Heart Of The Phantasm
by Edward Crane
Summary: Crossover with Batman.  After the events of San Lorenzo, Helga Pataki heads for Gotham to start her new life, but a mysterious enemy makes a deal in order to destroy her and her beloved.  Arnold's only hope to save her will push him to his limits.
1. Unsolved Mysteries

Beta's notes: Mr. Crane would love to thank his readers, both reviewers and lurkers. It's people like you who give him inspiration to continue (and believe me, I know what he has in store for this, so we desperately want him to continue)!

Helga Pataki gazed sadly at the white, fluffy clouds beyond the airplane window and sighed. Her thoughts, as usual, were of Arnold and their previous encounter. After telling her that he hated her, Arnold had struck Helga across the face when she prevented him from running out into the jungle to save his parents. She was merely trying to prevent him from getting killed! Still...it wasn't her place to get in his way and Helga couldn't help but feel at least partially responsible for her beloved's loss.

"Are you sure you're all right, Helga?" Edward Nigma's voice brought Helga away from her thoughts.

She looked at him, her brilliant blue eyes threatening to tear up at any moment, and nodded slowly. "I'll be okay once we get to Gotham. I just…." She lowered her head. "I just can't stop thinking about him."

He placed a gentle hand on the young woman's shoulder. "After what he did, he doesn't deserve to have someone so special thinking about him."

She shook her head. "He wasn't always like that." She looked up and a bitter smile came to her face as she recalled the memories of her time spent with her football-headed hero when they were still in the fourth grade. "He was so sweet, so gentle, so caring. He often spent most of his time helping people with their petty problems and worries. I'd always tease him, call him names…."

She chuckled fondly as memories of a time long past filled her mind. Memories of their first date, the first time they held hands, the first time they kissed, the first time Arnold told her that he loved her…had it all been a lie? No. They truly loved each other. _Truly_ loved each other. It was a love so pure, so gentle, so passionate! Helga thought it would last for eternity, and in one terrible day, it had all come crashing down, but Helga still held on to the memory of the football-headed angel she fell in love with.

She sighed. "I know that kind little boy I fell in love with is still inside him. I _know_ it, but after everything that's happened…." She tried her hardest to hold back the tears.

Edward squeezed her shoulder, and she managed a smile. "Perhaps you can help him rediscover that little boy?" he suggested.

She shook her head. "No…I couldn't…I couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. The way he looked at me…."

He tried to find the right words to comfort the young woman next to him but could not. He was still trying to solve the puzzle behind his own feelings for Helga Pataki. Their time in the jungle had caused the former super-villain to realize how similar the blue-eyed blonde was to himself. "Well, if you need a place to stay…."

She smiled. "Thanks, Eddie, but I still got a few dollars on me. I'll be fine."

He wanted to insist, but decided that Helga needed to deal with her problem on her own. There was an awkward pause, and he coughed into his fist to break the ice. "So," he began, "how do you think you're parents are going to take your supposed 'death'?"

She scoffed. "They'll probably go out to eat somewhere nice to celebrate. Miriam'll probably get shit-faced. I mean more-so than usual."

He just shook his head sadly. "Are your parents _really_ that uncaring?"

The young blonde thought for a moment. "Y'know," she shook her head, "it's funny. They weren't really all that bad until after the Scarecrow fiasco."

"Really?" Edward queried, greatly interested.

"Yeah. I mean, not long after, my dad got caught in a car explosion and was in a coma for nearly a year. They had to do skin grafts, surgery, all that stuff. It cost us a FORTUNE! We…we had to file for bankruptcy." Helga flinched at the memory of those horrible few years. "Bob became…violent after that."

He placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Helga."

"It's okay. I had Arnold. He always made me feel better. He wanted to protect me, but there was nothing he could do about Bob or his abuse."

"You couldn't go to the police?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "There wasn't enough evidence. He was so…subtle about everything. So careful. He always made sure to do it where nobody could see, and he always used something that wouldn't leave bruises. He never used to be so smart."

He pondered for a moment. "What about your mother and sister?"

"I never saw him hit Miriam, but I do remember coming home one night, and she was acting strangely. At first, I thought it was just her 'smoothies' kicking in, but then I saw the gash on her head. She had a concussion."

"You think your father did it?"

She shot him an angry glare. "Of course he did! That motherfucker only gives a shit about himself! He's a goddamn monster."

"Okay, okay," he conceded, motioning with his hands.

Her face softened as she directed her gaze forward, then her eyes narrowed, and she clenched her shaking fists. "But the worst thing that bastard did…was what he did to my sister."

Edward was silent for a moment. "What happened, Helga?" he whispered.

She paused for a moment to fight back tears, but a few small drops managed to escape the confines of her eyelids. "I saw her that night…she was trying to hide it with make-up. She-" Helga's voice cracked, and she hesitated, trying to fight back the tears. Again she was unsuccessful.

"It's okay, Helga," he whispered soothingly, giving her shoulder another squeeze.

The trembling blonde took a deep breathe and let it out. "She had these…marks."

"Marks?" he repeated curiously.

"Yeah." She nodded. "These marks…on the outside of her lips." Edward tilted his head in confusion, raising an eyebrow. "It…it was like somebody _bit_ her."

He leaned back and brought the side of his index finger to his lips, pondering the information he had received.

"But do you know what the weirdest thing was?" Helga asked, turning to face the detective next to her.

Nigma leaned forward anxiously. "No. Tell me."

"The weirdest thing is…whenever Arnold came around, it was like he was scared of him."

"Scared of him?"

"Yeah. He would leave the room every time Arnold showed up. He never allowed me to do anything or go anywhere. I'd have to sneak out and get screamed at or hit when I got home, but if I ever wanted to do something with Arnold…any time Arnold showed up to take me out on a date or something…he wouldn't say a word."

Edward slowly leaned back into his seat once more, processing this bit of news. "Interesting."

Helga sighed deeply. "After we broke up…after things with my father cooled down, and he wasn't so abusive to me anymore, Arnold decided to head for San Lorenzo to be with his parents."

"Your father just stopped abusing you?"

She just shrugged. "Yeah. He just quit all of the sudden. He was even a little affectionate sometimes."

"Too affectionate?"

"No." She dismissed the notion entirely. "It was like he was making a half-assed attempt to be a better father or something."

The older man let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his temples. "None of this makes any sense."

She shrugged again, also at a loss. "I don't know either, and I don't care. It's in the past now. I never have to deal with it again." She directed her gaze back towards the clouds beyond, thoughts of Arnold still weighing painfully on her mind.

* * *

The traitor, back to wearing the black ski mask after his little chat with Ra's Al Ghul, trudged through the jungles of San Lorenzo towards the stolen cargo plane that would take him to his next destination. All had gone well with the Demon's Head during their meeting. It had taken quite a bit of provoking from him for Ra's not to execute him right then and there, but thanks to a heaping helping of C4 cleverly planted throughout Ghul's fortress, the old man began to see things his way. "Even better than expected," he said smugly to no one.

He so busy mentally patting himself on the back, he nearly tripped over another log and stumbled forward, almost running face-first into a tree. He quickly stopped himself and looked around, trying to determine exactly where he was in the thick, dense jungle. Suddenly, something caught his eye. Something shining in the trees.

"Hmm…?" The traitor walked closer to the object of his curiosity.

It was some kind of gold locket hanging from a tree branch. The mysterious masked individual reached out and grasped the locket, yanking it from its resting place. He turned it over, and his eyes widened as he gazed at the picture on the front of the locket.

"Helga, Helga, Helga," he sighed, shaking his head. "Thanks for the parting gift, sweetheart." The masked man grinned. "We'll be seeing each other REAL soon."

* * *

"So she's just lying there, on her bed with her hair down and her legs crossed."

Arnold sat in the gunner seat of Robin's Red Bird Mk2, relaying to the Boy Wonder the time he had snuck into Helga's room one night in order to leave a surprise present for her. Not expecting her to be there, he was more than surprised to find her standing in front of her window with a baseball bat, ready to wail on what she believed to be a late-night burglar. Upon learning that the intruder was actually her beloved Arnold, she teased him for several minutes before inviting him in. Afterwards, things had developed rather quickly.

"In one hand," he continued, "she's got the rope I used to get through her window; with the other, she's twirling a lock of her hair on her finger. Then she says, 'Come and get it.'"

"So what'd you do?" asked a very curious Tim Drake from the cock-pit of his personal aircraft.

"Well," Arnold continued hesitantly, "I didn't really know what to do. I kinda just stood there at first. She started talking about lip gloss and what kind of flavor I wanted. It was getting to be too much, so I asked her to stop."

"_What_?" a very disappointed Robin sighed from the pilot's chair. "Man, if Helga did something like that to _me_, I'd have brought it! I'm sorry, I know she's your girl, but…geez." The boy wonder shook his head and let out a long whistle.

"I was trying to be a gentleman, Robin."

"Hey, I'm a gentleman too, man, but, damn dude, there's a LIMIT! Sometimes you just gotta give the ladies what they want. Even if you're not entirely up for it yourself."

Arnold rolled his eyes. "We were ten years old at the time, Robin."

The Boy Wonder shrugged. "Well, it's not like she was going to throw you on the bed and have her way with you."

Arnold blushed furiously at that. He was a teenager now, and needless to say, thoughts of Helga Pataki in more…compromising positions…had become frequent visitors to his mind's eye.

"Tell me, Arnold." Robin's voice brought the fantasizing young man back from his private thoughts. "What do you _really_ know about Helga Pataki?"

Arnold tilted his oddly-shaped head and lifted an eye-brow. "What do you mean? I've been around her since as far back as I can remember. There isn't much I _don't_ know about Helga."

Robin pondered to himself for a minute, taking in all the little details he had gathered about the remarkable young woman during their time in San Lorenzo. "I'm guessing her parents don't pay her much attention, do they?"

Arnold - that inquisitive look still plastered on his face - nodded. "No. Not really, no."

"I'm also willing to bet that she has an older sibling who garners more affection and attention from her parents. Is that right?"

Arnold cocked his head a little more. "That's right…a sister."

With a prideful grin spreading across his face, Robin leaned back in his chair a bit. "Now I'm just gonna throw this one out there...she has a parent who's an addict; I'm gonna say…alcoholism would be my guess." The football-headed teen just sat there, staring in awe at his heroic counterpart. Robin looked back at him, and his smile widened. "Thought so."

Arnold just stared in stunned silence for a few minutes. "How…how did you know that?"

Robin shrugged. "Hey man, what can I say? I'm a detective, and a DAMN good one. I can tell a lot from a person by just being around them for a little while."

"Yeah, but," Arnold scratched his head, "how did you know that? What gave Helga away?"

Robin turned and flicked a couple of switches, putting the ship on auto-pilot. He then spun the chair around so that he could face Arnold and cupped his chin in his hand, thinking. "Well," he began, "for starters, there was the way she fought. She was outright _deadly_ in combat. I mean, hell, she took on Talia Al Ghul without breaking a sweat! Plus, the way she carried herself. So smart, sassy, and independent." He trailed off into a half-lidded gaze as he thought about the feisty girl.

"Yeah," Arnold sighed. "She's quite a woman." The football-headed teen drifted off into his own thoughts of the teenage pigtailed blonde.

"Uh, anyway." Robin shook himself out of his thoughts, and upon hearing the other boy's voice, Arnold did the same. "This tells me that she's had to protect herself over the years, probably because no one _else_ has ever been protective of her. That led to my theory about neglectful parents."

"And the successful older sibling?"

Robin leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Usually when two parents are neglectful, it's either because the child in question was an accident or because they pile all their attention onto another source. Honestly, it could have been anything: drugs, friends, work…anything. I took a gamble on that one."

"What about the alcoholic mom?"

"Well, like I said, neglect is usually due to an outside source. I figured either the mother or the father was possibly a user of some kind of drug. Usually, it's alcohol. Plus, Helga's rough-and-tumble attitude suggests bitterness about something. I just naturally assumed it had something to do with her parents. She's smart, but she's…," Robin paused, trying to think of a word to fit his opinion on this particular area of Helga Pataki's personality, "'different,' I guess...?"

Arnold chuckled softly. "Yeah, she _is_ different. Not like other girls I've known in the past."

"Yeah, but that's what makes her so appealing," Robin pointed out.

"I agree," Arnold nodded, "but what does this have to do with anything? I mean, I'll give it to you, you know a LOT about her, but I'm not really sure I see a point to any of this."

"My point is," Robin began with an indignant huff, "all that girl's life, she never received _any_ affection whatsoever from the people who should have shown it to her. Oh sure, I'm sure her sister was nice to her, and that's good, but where was she when Helga was being treated like shit by her parents? Where was she when her little sister felt like she had nobody in the world to turn to? Where was she when Helga TRULY needed a big sister?"

Arnold started to say something, but realized that there was no use. Robin was right about Helga's family, and truth be told, Arnold knew all too well just how much of a monster Big Bob Pataki could actually be.

"The fact is," the young vigilante continued, "Helga NEEDED you to show her affection. Both emotionally _and_ physically. Sure, she may not have had sex on her mind - or maybe she did; I wouldn't put it past her - but the fact is, she just needed someone to hold her and tell her that everything was gonna be all right."

Arnold sighed dejectedly, lowering his head. "I guess I see what you mean."

"May I ask what happened between the two of you?"

Arnold sighed again as his eyes fell to the floor. "I tried to make things work with Helga. I _really_ did, but she was so forceful…so miserable. She would always push me away and talk about how she was 'a monster,' and that she 'didn't deserve me'. It's so hard to love someone who just absolutely HATES themselves,and that's what I told her. She broke up with me after that." Robin shook his head, and Arnold shot him a look of desperation. "Did I do the right thing, Robin? What should I have done? What COULD I have done?"

Robin merely shrugged. "Arnold, I gotta tell ya, as much as I seem to know about women, I really don't know. You're asking the wrong guy, buddy. Helga Pataki is a mystery not even this guy can solve."

The green-eyed blond chuckled helplessly. "I don't think _anybody_ can."

"Well, I dunno…my adopted father might have something to say about _that_."


	2. And So It Begins At The Madhouse

Beta's note: Hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am! Please leave a review if you have time. Eddie needs to know how cool this story is from someone besides me and 4chan anons. :)

* * *

Jonathan Crane relaxed in his rocking chair in his cell at Arkham Asylum. He hummed softly to himself as he put the finishing touches on his new mask; his last one having been destroyed in his latest battle with the Dark Knight.

"Honestly," Crane said to the mask, "how he survived that blazing corn field, I'll never know. He truly is the 'World's Greatest Detective'." He chuckled and nearly pricked a finger on the needle he was using to sew up his costume.

"Talkin' to yerself again, freak?"

Crane lifted his head from his work and directed his gaze towards a large man with a shaved head and black mustache. The guy was wearing the uniform of an Arkham guard and holding a shiny nightstick in his right hand. "Ah, Mr. Warwick," Crane greeted warmly, "how's life?"

"Not bad knowin' nut-jobs like you are where they belong," Warwick replied, scowling.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk! All that misplaced anger isn't good for your health, Marty. Would you like to talk about it?" Crane asked with a sly grin.

Warwick slammed his nightstick against the madman's cell in a failed attempt to make the villain flinch.

"Well, then," Crane sighed, removing his glasses. "I'm certain you didn't come all the way down here just to scare me, Mr. Warwick. So to what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"You got a phone call, freak-o. Though why anyone would _ever_ wanna hear the sound of your creepy-ass voice is beyond me."

This brought a glimmer of genuine curiosity to the eyes of Jonathan Crane. He hadn't been expecting any phone calls, and he wasn't planning an escape for another two weeks. Perhaps it was young Elliot again. Yes, that had to be it. The good doctor needed his help for another devious plot against the Batman.

Crane snickered to himself, eagerly awaiting to hear from his old pupil. He got up, set his unfinished mask aside, and waited patiently for Mr. Warwick to open his cell. The door lifted open, and Crane stepped out into the hallway beyond where Warwick led him towards the building's telephones. On their way there, Crane turned to see a grinning figure mostly cloaked in the darkness of his cell, flipping over cards on a table in front of him.

"Evening, Joker," the lanky super-villain greeted.

The Joker lifted a hand and waved happily to his fellow inmate. At this hour, most of the other inmates were asleep by now (unless, of course, Harvey's coin came up tails, and he decided to pull an all-nighter). Marty Warwick's refusal to slap Jonathan around a little came from the fear of waking the other inmates. Joker hardly ever slept, however. He mostly just sat there. Staring. Smiling.

"Alright freak-show, you know the rules," Warwick growled as he ushered Crane towards one of the telephones. "Five minutes and then you're back in your cell. I'll be-" Suddenly, Warwick was interrupted by a loud clatter from down the hall. He lifted his nightstick and turned towards the sound, then looked back at Crane and glared angrily. "I'll be right back, psycho. Try anything funny, and you'll be suckin' your meals through a straw. Got it?" Crane nodded as he reached for the phone, and Warwick hesitantly turned back towards the noise and headed into the hallway. "That better not be you, again, Tetch!" he called as he left the former psychiatrist to his phone call.

He smiled as he picked up the phone. He and Jervis Tetch, also known as The Mad Hatter, were good friends, and any time either one received a phone call, the other would cause a distraction to ensure that the conversation became a little more private.

"This Dr. Crane," Jonathan spoke into the receiver.

"Dr. Crane…?" the voice on the other end of the line asked a little cautiously.

So it _wasn't_ Elliot. Interesting. "And who might this be?" the not-so-good doctor casually replied.

"A former patient of yours, actually," answered the voice on the other end of the line that Crane now noticed belonged to a woman.

"Really…?" said Crane with genuine curiosity. "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific. I've treated many patients in my day, you see."

"It's Helga," said the female voice. "Helga Pataki."

Jonathan Crane's eyes widened in disbelief, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched the phone with all his strength. Rage flowed through his veins like white-hot fire, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "How _DARE_ you call me _here?_!" the Scarecrow growled.

"I need your help," Helga explained calmly.

"The only thing I would be willing to help you do is die a slow and agonizing death. You and that big-headed freak, Arnold."

There was a brief pause. "Arnold and I…," Helga began, and Crane could detect a hint of pain in her voice, "we're no longer together."

Crane's eyes darted from side to side as he considered this new development. "You have sixty seconds," he informed.

"Long story short," the teen began, "Arnold and I got into a fight, and we're no longer on speaking terms. I…," she paused, "I don't know what to do now. I can't go back to Hillwood…too many painful memories. So I've decided to take you up on the offer you made me four years ago."

"I'm listening."

Helga took a deep breath, and there was another brief silence between the two. "I wanna be the Scarecrow."

Crane took a deep breath, let it out, and rubbed his chin as he considered the young woman's words. He _had_ been hoping to take a little break for a while now. Maybe even retire. Alas, his quest for knowledge would not allow him to shirk his duties towards modern medicine and the study of fear. However, now it seemed he was being offered the chance to finally pass along that knowledge to one who could use it to its full potential. He broke off for a moment to stretch and then replaced the receiver back against the side of his face. "Do you have a pen and some paper?"

"Uh…hang on a sec." Crane waited patiently for the anxious teen to find the appropriate items. He chuckled to himself as he heard a loud crash in the background, followed by a string of curses from the girl on the other end of the line. "Go ahead," she urged thirty seconds later.

"I'm going to give you the address to an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Head there as soon as I hang up the phone and make CERTAIN that you are not followed. Once you're inside, go upstairs and search the area for a small box full of straw. Open the box, reach inside, and pull the lever hidden within the pile. The lever will open one of the large crates downstairs, revealing a small elevator that will lead you down to a room beneath the warehouse. Take everything in that room - and I mean _everything_ - and leave, but _don't_ forget to go back upstairs and pull that lever again before you leave. It is also _imperative _that you never return to that warehouse again."

"Why?" Helga asked.

"Because I don't want the Batman finding that building."

"Okay. What next?"

Crane shrugged. "Go out and do some research. Kidnap some poor sap off the streets, bring him someplace secluded, and give him a healthy dose of fear toxin. Then write down the results in the blood-red journal you'll find in the warehouse. You don't necessarily have to go by that particular method though. If you'd like to get a little more…creative…that's more than encouraged. Just remember to make them afraid of you. _That's_ what matters most: FEAR. Understand, my pupil?"

"Yes, Dr. Crane," Helga responded.

Jonathan Crane couldn't help but grin at his female pupil's unexpected obedience. "Very good. Do NOT disappoint me."

"Yes, Doctor."

Crane placed the phone back on the receiver and leaned against a nearby wall, pondering this most unexpected occurrence. It was true that Ms. Pataki was quite the young lady. Strong, independent, intelligent…everything a mentor could ask for and possibly more, but was she really willing to "go the distance," so to speak? Was kidnapping and murder something the young woman was truly capable of? Jonathan shrugged and whispered into the darkness. "I guess we'll just see then…won't we?"

* * *

"No, no, no! All wrong." Robin grasped Arnold by the forearm and lowered it to his side. He took a couple of steps back and stood directly in front of the football-headed teenager. "Now try it again."

Arnold jabbed at Robin's face with his right hand. The Boy Wonder turned, grasped Arnold beneath the forearm, twisted it to the side a bit, and then halted his movement. "Alright, stop," he commanded, and Arnold did as he was told.

"Okay," Robin began, "now this method not only works well with an unarmed opponent but an armed opponent, too. You just take your other forearm," he directed as he raised up the arm he wasn't using to grasp Arnold's wrist and brought it in front of Arnold's elbow, "and then push forward with it while pulling the opponent's arm back with your other hand." He pushed his forearm against the back of Arnold's elbow while pulling the other boy's arm back with his other hand. "Do this hard enough and fast enough…you can snap a man's arm like a dry twig."

Arnold nodded, and both teens returned to ready position. Upon arriving in Gotham City, Robin had invited his blond counterpart to stay at his loft for the time being.

"Make yourself at home, eat whatever you like, and close the door on your way out if you go anywhere," he had said on their first day.

It was nice, yet simple. The couch folded out into a futon that Arnold slept on (although the rarely-used bed in the Boy Wonder's room had been offered many times, Arnold preferred his own sleeping area), the kitchen was not too far away and was often stocked with various junk-food, T.V. dinners, and plenty of healthy food to keep Arnold and Robin from ever going hungry. There was a rather large room in the back the teenage superhero used for training purposes. The two young men spent most of their time there, with Robin teaching Arnold various fighting styles and techniques.

"Do you live here?" Arnold had asked one night during dinner (one of the few dinner's they had together since Robin was out at all hours of the night, and sometimes, of the day).

"Sometimes." The teen hero shrugged. "I've got a few places around the city. Plus, there's my adopted father's place."

When Robin was at home, he would often opt to wearing more casual attire in place his red and black costume; although he still kept the domino mask in place over his eyes, so as not to reveal his true identity. Arnold wasn't bothered by this, however. He never even brought up the subject around his new friend. He was adamant about respecting the teenage hero's privacy.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask," Arnold began hesitantly. "Is your adopted father…you know…'Him'?"

Robin nodded while shoveling in another helping of steamed vegetables.

"Am I ever gonna get to meet him?"

"I thought you already met him?"

Arnold tilted is head and shrugged. "I wouldn't really call it _meeting_ him. It was more of an encounter, really. I didn't get a chance to talk to him that much."

"He's Batman." Robin shrugged in return. "NOBODY really talks him that much. He's not much of a talker. Never has been."

There was a moment of silence between the two.

"Is he…I mean…is he a good father?"

Robin leaned back on the sofa, pondering the question. "Well…he's not very affectionate, if that's what you mean. He trained me, taught me how to fight. He taught me how to be a detective. More importantly, he taught me how to…deal."

"Deal?" Arnold questioned with a confused look and a tilt of his oddly-shaped head.

Robin sighed and got up from his spot on the sofa. "Come on." He made his way towards the large window on the far side of the room. "There's something I wanna show you."

Arnold set his meal down on the table and got up to follow the curious teen. He stood next to the young hero, and the two looked out at the city beyond the glass.

"There," Robin spoke, pointing with his index finger.

Arnold squinted his eyes and peered out over the city. "Where?"

"Right there." Robin's finger bumped against the glass, pointing towards a small island next to the city.

Arnold spotted several lights drifting aimlessly throughout the area on what looked like a large building that covered most of the island. "What is that?"

"Arkham Asylum," Robin answered grimly.

"The insane asylum for super-criminals?" Arnold whispered, almost afraid that the ominous structure would somehow hear him. He felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach, as if the building were calling to him, waiting to drag him into the bowels of madness. He shivered visibly.

Robin slowly nodded. "The very same."

"What…," Arnold gulped, "what's it like…?"

Robin sighed as he tried finding the words to describe the madhouse. "It's like walking into a nightmare. I don't go there often, only when absolutely necessary, and when I do, it's with Batman. He doesn't show it often, but…," the Boy Wonder gazed beyond the window, his thoughts drifting, "when he does…he doesn't show it, but I can tell…he's afraid."

"Afraid?" Arnold whispered incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Why would he be afraid?"

Robin lowered his head and sighed, then looked directly into Arnold eyes. "You'll never hear him say this…_EVER_…and this is between you and me, but Batman isn't quite all there himself."

Arnold nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

Robin directed his gaze back towards the asylum. "I mean, he's not insane or anything, but when you have to deal with the kind of shit we have to deal with on a regular basis," Robin's voice became a saddened whisper, and he lowered his head, "it gets to you, man. I…I have trouble sleeping a lot."

Arnold's face softened, and he placed a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that, Robin."

The young vigilante looked over at the football-headed boy and smiled. "Thanks, Arnold. You're a good friend. I can see why Helga cares so much about you."

Arnold rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, touched and even a little embarrassed by the other boy's kind words.

"Thanks…I really needed to hear that."

"Well, we can hold hands and kiss later," Robin joked, and Arnold couldn't help but share a laugh with the masked teenager. There was another brief silence as the Boy Wonder looked out over the city. Suddenly, an interesting idea came to his mind, and he looked back at Arnold. "Hey," he began with a sly grin and motioned towards Gotham. "You wanna go out?"

A half smile came to Arnold's lips, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Startin' to think that whole 'holding hands and kissing' remark wasn't meant to be a joke."

Robin chuckled and rolled his eyes. "I mean go out on patrol, smartass."

Arnold's green orbs went wide, and he lowered his arms to his side. "You…you think I'm ready?"

Robin nodded and crossed his own arms over his chest, leaning against the nearby wall.

"Trust me, man. You're ready. Besides, if anything goes wrong, I've got your back."

Arnold shook his head and chuckled to himself. "Alright, then. Let's do it."

"Cool," Robin grinned as he ran to his room to collect his costume.

"Uh, won't I need something to…y'know…wear…outside?"

"I got something for you, man," Robin shouted back from his room.

"An old Robin costume?" Arnold asked.

"Nope, but this one _does_ have some history to it."

A few minutes later, Robin came back into the room in full costume, carrying something wrapped up in a bundle of clothes. He offered it to the blond teenager, and Arnold took it from his hands gently. He unwrapped the clothing and saw a shiny, ominous, metallic mask gleaming back at him. "Whoa," he whispered, running a hand over the smooth surface of the mask.

"It belonged to someone Batman knew a long time ago, so I really hope he doesn't get pissed at me for lending it to you."

"What did he call himself?" Arnold asked, still mesmerized by the gleaming mask.

"She."

"Huh?" Arnold looked up, confused.

"_She_ called herself 'the Phantasm'. I modified it a little to fit you better, but it's mostly the same. It also comes with a bladed right hand, if you're interested."

"Sounds cool," Arnold replied anxiously. He pulled off his clothes and slipped into the costume of the Phantasm. He held up the mask, still eyeing it with a mystified stare, and placed it onto his face. Then he turned towards his new partner and struck a pose. "How do I look?" he asked, his voice altered into a deep, ominous tone.

Robin let out a long whistle. "Like the Ghost of Christmas Future."

Arnold grinned beneath the mask and held up his bladed right hand to observe himself in its reflection. "Cool."


	3. The Deal With The Devil

Beta's note: Here's more for you to enjoy! Trust me, you're in store for a treat soon.

* * *

It was a quiet night in Gotham City.

By this time, many of its residents were already safely tucked away in their beds, dreaming fondly of a world without the dirt and corruption they witnessed on a daily basis in the City of Shadows. The ones who were awake participated in such filth. Drugs, prostitution, robbery, even murder; all of these things were just a "day in the life" for the seedier residents of Gotham City. Everyone knew it was happening, from the tallest police officer down to the smallest child; everyone knew about the horrors of Gotham's underbelly. They just chose to ignore it, for the most part. At least until they had to witness it first-hand.

The masked figure, dressed in a black Victorian-era tuxedo, complete with a horned mask worn over his eyes and black gloves, stared out at the city as he sipped his wine and considered his guest's proposal. He turned back to his desk and flipped open the manila envelope that lay atop it. Its contents revealed a series of pictures depicting two children at school, home, and various other places. One of the children, a young boy with an oval-shaped head and tiny blue hat, smiled sweetly at a pig-tailed young girl who appeared to be trying her hardest to maintain a scowl, but the slight redness in her cheeks proved the effort futile. Many of the images featured the two children together, making it painfully obvious that the two were romantically involved. It was all very cute, and the masked figure couldn't help but grin. He directed his gaze back towards the mysterious visitor who had given him these photographs.

"When were these taken?" he asked.

The visitor, still hidden in the shadows, made some motion that his masked host could not see and then cleared his throat. "About five years ago. The children are teenagers now, but their love for each other is as strong and as pure as it's ever been."

The host nodded and picked up one of the photographs of the girl. She had a wistful smile spread across her face as she held a gold locket close to her chest. The masked man studied the picture carefully. "The girl, Helga…you say she's in Gotham City now?"

The visitor made another unseen gesture, then spoke. "Yes. So is the boy."

The man in the mask nodded. He brought the picture towards his face and slowly glided his tongue across the image of the girl, as if he could taste her, and then glanced at it thoughtfully before placing it back down upon his desk. "What you're proposing is the perversion of true love," the masked figure hissed with pleasure as he picked up a photo of the young couple happily holding hands.

"Can you pull it off?" the visitor asked.

The masked man stared at the photo for a moment before delicately tearing it in half, separating the two children. His eyes looked back towards his visitor. "Shouldn't be too hard...but what do I get in return?"

"You can keep the girl, if you'd like."

"And the boy?"

"The boy is to remained unharmed. For the most part, anyway."

The masked host nodded acceptingly. "A fair bargain, then. However, I like to make it a habit of preparing myself for unexpected…problems. If things don't go as intended, and the girl proves stronger than you originally suspected, what am I to tell her if she interrogates me and realizes that I was not alone in this endeavor?"

The mysterious visitor tossed him a folded piece of paper. "I've planned for that myself, actually. Wrote a little script for you."

The masked man unfolded the note, and his eyes widened as he read its contents. "Interesting choice for a scapegoat. You _do_ realize how dangerous this man is, correct? If he finds out about this-"

"He won't," the visitor cut him off, "and by the time he does, he won't be of any use to me anymore."

The man in the mask chuckled to himself. "You intend on killing him, then? It's been tried before. I'm not even certain that he _can_ be killed."

"You just leave that to me and remember your lines."

The masked man nodded as he folded up the paper and placed it into his coat pocket. "Then the game is set."

The visitor made yet another unseen gesture and turned to depart.

"I trust you can get the job done, Dr. Hurt. Or Thomas Wayne. Or Satan. Whatever it is you're calling yourself these days. Heh, heh, heh."

"Simon will do fine, for now," Dr. Hurt said to the departing visitor. He turned his attention back to the city before him and checked the watch strapped to his wrist. "Oh my," he said aloud upon noticing that he was late for the midnight orgy. He organized the envelope, placed the photograph of Helga Pataki into the folds of his tuxedo coat before gathering up his long, flowing black cloak, and headed for the door.

* * *

Helga Pataki observed the scenery around her. The room was small and somewhat claustrophobic, and the walls were covered with various notes, building blueprints, and many pictures of Batman.

"Geez, and I thought _I_ was obsessed," she mumbled to herself.

On the far side of the wall was a dresser full of spare costumes, syringe-claws, a chemistry set, and dozens of notebooks packed with research notes and journal entries. She pulled one out and flipped it open.

_April 19th_

_Despite my best efforts, the Batman continues to resist my newly-developed fear toxin. He truly is a remarkable creature. I have injected him with enough toxin to drive at least two dozen men completely insane. It is possible that the Batman is already mentally disturbed. After all, we're talking about a grown man who dresses like a flying rodent and beats criminals to a pulp with his bare hands every night. On a side note, my former college professor, William Bergner, is reacting just as expected to the amount of toxin he received. Apparently, Dr. Bergner has a deep-seated fear of lobsters! Intriguing. I'll have to investigate this further._

Helga closed the notebook up, placed it in an empty backpack she had brought with her, and glanced down at a piece of paper that had fallen out of the notebook and onto the floor. Out of curiosity, she leaned down to pick it up. Her eyes widened as she looked at the paper. It was a first-class ticket to San Lorenzo.

"What the fuck is he doing with _this_?" she asked aloud, then quickly slipped the ticket into her pink backpack.

She rummaged through the other books until she found the blood-red research journal she had been told to obtain. She opened it up, flipped through a few of the pages, then closed it and tossed it into her backpack. Helga then grabbed the chemistry set and a few other items she might need (spare vials, a few extra syringe gloves, and other random materials) and tossed the remaining books in an empty cardboard box she had found.

"Guess that's about it, then," she said aloud.

Helga was heading for the door when something in the far corner caught her eye. She walked towards it curiously, bent down to pick it up, and turned the small, black object over in her hand.

"C4.…" Her eyes narrowed, and she slowly turned to leave the room.

Helga's little apartment on the east side of Gotham was a cheap little number. Fortunately, the rent wasn't much at all (one-hundred dollars a month), and it suited her just fine considering that she didn't really plan on having any company. No matter how hard she tried, the young woman was unable to get out the sour odor in certain areas of the apartment (apparently, the previous tenant was a big cat lover), but she really didn't care. This was her life now, and she was just going to have to get use to it.

A life without Arnold.

She sighed and looked down at the floor before walking into the kitchen to sit down and examine the blood-red research notebook. She flipped open the book and skimmed through its contents until she found the formula for Crane's trademark fear toxin. She studied the ingredients carefully as she absentmindedly brought her hand up towards the base of her neck. Her face twisted in confusion as she felt around for her beloved locket. Then she stopped and let out a long sigh as she remembered that the item was no longer in her possession.

"Oh, yeah," she said aloud. "I forgot."

She let out another sigh as she set the notebook down and went for the chemistry set which she placed by the book on the kitchen table. She reached into her backpack and pulled out various vials of chemicals and ingredients for her fear toxin. She paused, staring at one of the jars labeled "MAGNESIUM PHOSPHORUS". She huffed miserably.

"Never was too good at chemistry."

She shrugged her shoulders and set the jar down by the chemistry set, and then opened up the red notebook to figure out what the hell she was supposed to be doing first. She poured a vial of white powder into a large beaker and then a smaller vial of red powder. She then grabbed a thin, long mixing rod and stirred the compounds together. She set the beaker on top of a hot-plate and turned it on to 300 degrees.

"Okay, what next…?"

She glanced back at the little notebook and absentmindedly reached for the jar of phosphorus, but while not paying attention, she wound up tipping it over the edge of the table, shattering the jar and spilling its contents all over the floor.

"God DAMMIT," she groaned.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

After about and hour and a half, Helga was finally able to recreate the fear toxin as per the instructions written in the Scarecrow's blood-red notebook. The toxin itself was a clear, watery substance that was completely odorless. The young blonde took a step back to properly examine the fruits of her efforts.

"Looks alright to me," she muttered. "Now, let's see what's next…." She picked up the notebook and flipped the page, reading the instructions written:

_Upon completion of the mixture, place toxin in sprayer and test._

She hunted through in her pink backpack for something that resembled a "sprayer" but found nothing useful.

"Well, what the fuck?" she scoffed aloud, shrugging her shoulders.

She looked around the room for anything she might be able to use when suddenly her eyes fell upon a can of spray-paint. She hustled over to the object, picked it up, and shook it. Empty. She gave a satisfied grin and headed over to the chemistry set. After popping the top off of the can and pulling the nozzle off, the teenage girl then searched her equipment bag and produced a funnel and a thin tube.

"Perfect," she grinned.

She attached the thin tube to the bottom of the funnel and slipped the other end over the bare nozzle of the spray-paint can, and then poured the contents of the beaker containing her home-made fear toxin into the funnel.

"Mwahahahahaaa!" She gave her best mad scientist laugh as she watched the clear liquid slither through the tube and into the empty spray-paint can.

After finishing, she put her equipment back up and replaced the nozzle on the can, giving it a little test spray out of the one window in her apartment. A light mist emerged from the nozzle and she closed her window to prevent the toxin from merging with the air in her apartment. Examination of the can carefully for a moment produced an interesting idea in her mind, so she peeled the label off the can and searched through her own belongings for a blank label of her own.

"Good thing I came prepared for shit like this," she mumbled to herself as she pulled a solid white peel-off label from one of the drawers by the sink. She peeled off the label, stuck it to the front of the spray-paint can, took a red Sharpie from the kitchen table, and wrote in crude handwriting:

_Scream For Me_

Then she flipped the can over in her hand, admiring her handiwork with a smug grin. The now full can of fear toxin was placed on the table, and she glanced back toward the red notebook, remembering its instructions:

…_place toxin in sprayer and test._

She looked down at the writing and studied it carefully.

"How the hell am I supposed to test it? Should I just kidnap some poor shmoe off the street like Crane suggested?"

Helga paused for a minute to think, then turned back to the book and flipped the page. On the other side was a short journal entry:

_Over the years, when testing a fresh batch of fear toxin, I have often used myself as the first test subject. This process is useful for two reasons:_

_1) It allows me to properly and officially determine whether or not a batch is truly successful, and also just how potent and efficient it will be._

_2) Prolonged exposure to the fear toxin will, over time, give me immunity to the toxin itself. This is highly useful in case of accidental exposure. On a side note, I have discovered that the fastest way to develop immunity is to expose oneself to a hefty dosage of the toxin. This is, however, a __**HIGHLY**__ dangerous process that I, myself, have yet to even attempt for fear of complete psychological breakdown. I warn anyone reading this to perform such a dangerous act at your own risk, if at all. It is not something I would ever recommend._

She looked up and pondered the last paragraph of Dr. Crane's journal entry.

"Complete immunity, eh…?" she thought aloud.

The curious blue-eyed blonde directed her gaze towards the large beaker of still mostly full fear toxin that rested on her kitchen table. She approached and lifted it up, bringing it close to her face.

"Well, I've always been a risk-taker," she said to no one in particular. "Besides…it's not like I've got anything to lose anymore, anyway."

The teenager slowly opened her mouth, tilted the beaker back, and drained its contents down her throat. She choked a bit on the tasteless liquid and placed the glass beaker back on the table. The blonde then belched loudly and wiped a bit of the substance from her lower lip.

"May have drunk too much," she mused.

She stood there for a moment, not really feeling anything yet. "Damn," she grumbled after a few more minutes of waiting. "Sure hope this shit worked."

Then heard a strange noise came from behind her front door, sounding eerily like a woman's sobbing. As Helga cautiously approached it, the crying became more and more pained. She wrapped her hands around the doorknob and took a deep breath.

"C'mon, Helga old girl… you can do this."

She exhaled in one long confidence-building drag, turned the knob, and slowly opened the door.


	4. Nightmares And Dreamscapes

Beta's note: Wow, you guys are in for a wild ride with this chapter. Don't forget to leave a nice review with your thoughts. :) Now let the awesome begin!

* * *

"I gotta tell you, Robin, this is _just_ what I needed."

The Boy Wonder looked over at his new partner - the green-eyed boy's gray cloak billowing in the wind as he perched himself atop a nearby gargoyle - and flashed a smile. "Yeah, bustin' the skulls of a few gang members is _so_ much better than tangling with one of Arkham's lunatics. It's easily the best part of the job."

Arnold, also known as 'the Phantasm', nodded his masked head in agreement. The two directed their gaze to the streets below when they heard a loud scream. Robin reached up and tapped the side of his mask, activating the binocular function built into the lenses.

"What is it?" the Phantasm asked in his deep, spooky voice.

Robin peered out into a nearby parking lot. There was a blonde woman in a red dress running from a black van. She headed for the double doors of the building in front of her, desperately trying to pull them open, but to no avail. She turned back to run the other way, but the van blocked off any chance of escape, and six men jumped out to apprehend her. Three more cars pulled up, and a man from the driver's side of each vehicle exited their consecutive car and drew a pistol, aiming at the her.

"Damsel in distress, twelve o' clock," Robin stated.

Arnold clenched his gloved fist, feeling a cloud of rage starting to engulf him. "They're not trying to…y'know…?"

Robin shook his head. "No, I don't think so. There are WAY too many guys here for something as simple as an attempted rape. Whoever this chick is, they want her alive and unharmed, for the most part."

One of the men roughly grabbed the woman by the back of her hair, painfully escorting her towards the van.

"Well, I'm not waiting to find out for sure," Arnold said before leaping from the gargoyle towards the kidnapping scene below. He quickly activated the short-range teleporter built into the glove of his costume, creating a thick fog around himself and sending him closer to the scene.

"Arnold, wait!" Robin called out futilely. He then shook his head as he saw Arnold emerge on a ledge closer to the crime scene, so he pulled out his grappling gun, firing it at the edge of the roof above the Phantasm.

The six men stopped to look around at the strange fog that now formed around them.

"Where the hell did this mist come from all of the sudden?" one of them asked.

"I don't know, and I don't care. Just get the bitch in the van, and let's get the fuck outta here."

The other kidnapper nodded quickly, hurrying the blonde woman into the back of the van.

"Gentlemen."

The six kidnappers looked around quickly for the owner of the deep, shadowy voice; each man drawing a pistol from their coats. A being in a black costume with a silver mask, and a gray, tattered cloak wrapped around him appeared before them as if out of nowhere. "Your Angel of Death awaits."

"What the fuck?" one of them shouted as he opened fire.

Fortunately, Arnold managed to activate the teleporter before the guy could get off his shots. The Phantasm disappeared before re-appearing in the center of the group. One of them reacted by bringing his gun around, but Arnold cleanly sliced the barrel in two, completely disabling the weapon. He swept his right leg across the ground, sending most of the kidnappers sprawling, but in his haste, he had forgotten about the men in the car behind him, and they all immediately opened fire on the costumed specter. The Kevlar beneath Arnold's costume managed to absorb the impact of the bullets, but damn, did it hurt like hell! Arnold grunted in pain before activating his teleporter again, bringing a swirling cloud of fog into the air for cover.

"Goddamn freak," one of the men by the cars grumbled as he reloaded his weapon.

"Hey! I take offense to that, buddy."

The gunman looked up just in time to see a metallic bo staff come down on his face, knocking him unconscious. One of the other gunman opened fire on the Boy Wonder, but the agile youth leaped over the barrage of gunfire, landing on top of a nearby car next to the gunman. He hurled a batarang into his opponent's hand, effectively disabling him.

"Robin!" one of the remaining gunmen shouted. "Then that must be the Bat!" He pointed to the Phantasm who still had his hands full with the kidnappers that had managed to get back on their feet.

"That doesn't look like the Bat," another gunman murmured as he squeezed out a few shots at the teenage hero.

"Well, at least you losers recognize _me," _Robin piped up as he sent a bone-shattering kick deep into the ribs of another gunman.

Meanwhile, the Phantasm blocked a punch thrown by one of the kidnappers. He grabbed the man's wrist, then slammed his forearm into the man's elbow while pulling the wrist towards him, effectively snapping the kidnappers arm. The guy let out a painful scream as he hit the ground, and Arnold was barely able to throw up a defense against his next attacker. Another kidnapper came at him from behind and wrapped his arms around the Phantasm's biceps, pinning the ghostly figure's arms to his body. The kidnapper in front of him pistol-whipped Arnold across the face, almost knocking his mask clean off. Two of the other kidnappers grabbed the blonde woman and loaded her into the van. She took one last glance at her would-be hero, her blue eyes sparkling with tears as she pleaded silently for him to save her. Her kidnappers shoved her into the van and closed the doors after him. Seeing the hopeless blonde immediately reminded Arnold of Helga.

"NO!" he screamed in defiance, bringing his legs up to kick the attacker in front of him. Then with a great heave of strength, Arnold broke the other kidnapper's hold. He spun around, delivering a kick straight into his opponent's solar plexus and sent the man sprawling to the floor. He jumped atop the black van as the driver started the engine and began to speed off. Arnold lifted his bladed hand and brought it down onto the top of the van in attempt to cut a hole into it. The driver jerked the steering wheel hard, trying to use the sudden momentum to send the unwanted passenger tumbling from the vehicle. Arnold dug his blade into the auto, his gray cloak flying wildly behind him, and managed to stay on the van.

"Somebody shoot that damn freak!" the driver yelled.

The man in the passenger side picked up a twelve-gauge shotgun from the floorboard and rolled down his window. He stuck his torso out of the vehicle, carefully aiming his weapon at the ghostly figure clinging desperately to the van. The kidnapper fired the shotgun, missing his target, then cocked it and took aim again. Arnold reached into the black utility belt on his waist, producing a gas pellet which he whipped into the face of the gunman, blinding him and causing the surprised man to fire wildly into the air.

"Goddammit!" the driver growled in agitation. "Somebody back there take care of this nut-job!"

One of the kidnappers in the back of the van picked up a submachine gun and fired it into the ceiling of the vehicle. Arnold was hit in the chest by a burst of gunfire, sending him tumbling from the vehicle and onto the streets below. He heard laughter echo from the vehicle as the kidnappers took off with their unwilling cargo.

"You okay, man?" Robin asked as he went to pick the Phantasm up from the ground.

"Where were you?" Arnold gasped from behind his silvery mask.

"I was watching. You did pretty good up until you got shot."

"You were watching?" Arnold repeated with more than a hint of annoyance.

"Yeah," Robin stated simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"Why didn't you help?" Arnold shouted angrily. "That woman's probably going to be killed because **YOU** failed to act!"

"Whoa," Robin shot back, his hands out in front of him defensively. "Wait a minute, man. I didn't tell you to run out there like a rookie in the first place. I was gonna-"

"You were just gonna stand there and **WATCH**?" Arnold interrupted.

Robin sighed and dragged his hand over his face.

"Yes. Because those guys back there weren't going to kill her; they were going to take her somewhere, most likely to their boss. If we would've just stayed back, we could have followed them to the man in charge and taken them all out in one clean stroke."

Arnold started to say something back, but realizing his error, he merely sighed. His shoulders slumped, and he slowly sat down on the curb. He removed his mask and ran a hand through his hair.

"I guess I screwed up, didn't I…?"

The teenage hero rolled his eyes and sat down next to his friend, grasping him by the shoulder.

"Hey, man, nobody get it right the first time." He jerked a thumb into the Robin symbol on his chest. "Not even _this_ guy."

"Really?" asked Arnold.

Robin chuckled, nodding his head.

"Besides," he added, "while you were fighting the kidnappers, I slapped a tracking device on the van."

Arnold's expression brightened noticeably, and he smiled at his masked friend.

* * *

"Hello?" Helga called out hesitantly into the distant hallway beyond her apartment door. The sobbing was coming from somewhere far down the hall, and the teenage girl cautiously made her way down the corridor. Along the walls, she noticed familiar pictures of her family.

"Holy shit," she gasped as she realized where she was.

This was her house. Her parents' house.

The pictures on the walls depicted various images of her and her family, pictures she easily recognized...but there was something "off" about the photos. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. As she continued her journey down the hallway, the pictures started to repeat. It was one she had taken with her father, her mother, and Olga when she was nine. Her father gave his best fake smile. Her mother (sober for the moment) wore a slightly pained grin; as if realizing, in her sobriety, what a mess her life had really become. Olga's smile was of genuine ignorance, not realizing just how fucked up her family actually was. Helga, on the other hand, had her arms crossed over her chest; her face was a bitter scowl. The little blonde girl had always been aware of her family's…situation…and she wasn't about to sit there and fake it (like her father), bear it (like her mother), or ignore it (like her sister). She would stand strong, showing the whole world just what she really thought of it. She was just that type of person.

"This place is starting to give me the creeps," she whispered out loud, "but I guess that's to be expected."

As she continued, she noticed that the photographs were changing slightly. The eyes of her family members were being directed more towards Helga with each picture, and the little girl in the images seemed to be getting paler and more sickly-looking. Eventually, her family's eyes were entirely focused on the girl, and the Helga in the photo now had her jaw dropped open, and she was skeleton-thin. Her formerly blue eyes were now black and sunken into their sockets. Her pig-tails were thin, as if most of her hair had fallen out, and her clothes were hanging off of her skin-and-bones body. Helga heard a faint trickling coming from all around her and looked around to notice that the walls were leaking what appeared to be water.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked aloud.

When she looked back at the pictures, she noticed that her family's eyes were now completely black, and there was a thick oily substance streaming from their mouths. The Helga in the photos was now nothing more than a rotting skeleton.

That's when she heard the squeaking behind her and stopped dead in her tracks. "God, please don't let that be what I think it is."

She gulped once, then slowly turned around and gasped in horror at what she saw. There had to be thousands of them, maybe even millions. All she could see were bright red eyes attached to furry squeaking heads glaring back at her.

"Rats," she yelped, taking a step back.

As soon as she did, the vicious animals let out a loud screech and hurled themselves at the terrified teen. She ran towards the end of the hallway as fast as she could, screaming all the while. Pain coursed through her leg as one of the creatures bit down on her heel. Six more latched onto the sleeves of her shirt, and several more clung to her hair. She ripped the furry animals off of her, receiving various bites and scratches for her trouble, but for each one she pulled off, three more took its place. She found herself reaching the end of the hallway as the sea of rats descended upon her. Before the black tide of rodents could engulf her, Helga threw open the door in front of her and slammed it shut behind her.

"Whew," she let out a breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead. That's when she noticed something strange.

Her hand was much smaller than she remembered.

She looked down and was shocked to discover that she was wearing the pink jumper from her preteen years. Noticing a small mirror hanging on the wall, she cautiously approached it and let out a scream which she quickly muffled with her hand.

She was ten years old again.

"What the fuck?" she spoke aloud, noticing that her voice had changed back to its prepubescent state as well.

That's when she heard the sorrowful wailing again. She noticed that she was, once again, in the entrance hallway of her old home (only this time, it wasn't nearly as long as it was minutes before). She turned away from the mirror and cautiously approached the sobbing, which was coming from the kitchen.

"H-hello?" she called out hesitantly.

She walked into the kitchen and stood in the doorway, seeing her mother sobbing by the kitchen table with her head down and a half-finished glass of her trademark "smoothies" in her right hand.

"We should've had that fucking abortion when we had the chance, Miriam!"

Bob Pataki came storming into the kitchen from the entrance behind Helga's mother, a bottle of beer in his hand. Miriam just continued crying.

"Yeah, that's right, CRY! That's all you ever do anymore you stupid bitch!" he screamed at her, taking another swig of his beverage. "That and get shit-faced. You're fucking pathetic, you know that?" He grabbed the anguished woman by the back of her hair and slammed her face down on the table.

"Don't fucking touch her!" Helga yelled angrily as she stormed into the room.

Bob growled menacingly at the young girl and stomped towards her.

"You're just as useless as she is, you fucking whore." He smacked the little blonde in the side of the face with his bottle, sending her sprawling to the floor.

Helga coughed once, her face throbbing horribly as she spat up a tooth.

"I know what you _can_ be good for, though," he hissed as he held the little girl down on the kitchen floor. "Something your good-for-nothing mother hasn't done in years."

Helga screamed in defiance as Bob roughly grabbed the back of her pink jumper and began ripping it off her. She looked at her mother, her eyes pleading and glistening with tears at what her father was about to do to her. The older blonde looked down at her and grinned.

"Better you than me, kiddo," she chuckled.

Helga's eyes widened in disbelief at what her mother had said to her. Miriam had always neglected her due to her rampaging alcoholism, but Helga had always held on to the belief that at the end of the day, her mother cared for her in some way. It killed her to realize just how wrong she was.

By this time, Bob had gotten her down to her white undershirt and panties. She heard him start to unbuckle his belt and summoned all of her strength to get out from under his grasp. The horrified girl managed to tear herself away from her father and darted for the stairs, leaving the tattered remains of her jumper behind. She made it to the top when she bumped into her older sister.

"Olga!" she cried. "You've gotta help me, PLEASE!"

The little girl gasped in horror when she looked up at her sister's white inexpressive eyes.

"Ol…ga…?"

"What is it, baby sister?" the older blonde asked in a cold robotic voice.

Helga shook her head in disbelief as Bob approached the bottom of the stairs.

"Get over here, you ungrateful little cunt!"

With tears in her eyes, Helga pushed past her soulless older sister and headed straight for the sanctity of her room. She grasped the handle firmly and turned it, only to find the door locked. "No, no, oh GOD, **NO!**"

Bob was now at the top of the stairs, licking his lips hungrily. "Nowhere to run, bitch," His eyes gleaming with lust. "Now come here, and let Daddy see how tight his little girl is," he growled as he slowly approached her.

"Fuck THAT!" Helga shouted, and she slammed into her bedroom door with all her might, forcing it open.

She stumbled into a dark, grassy area.

"What the…?" She was somewhere outside. "Hello…?" she called out as she wrapped her arms around her half-naked form.

She began walking around the field of dark green until she saw something in the distance. It was a person standing by what appeared to be two large stones. She cautiously approached the other person. "H-hello?"

As she got closer, she began to recognize who it was. His football-shaped head, his blonde hair...all darkened by the night.

"Arnold…?"

The boy flinched at the sound of his own name. "What do _you_ want?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

She paused for a moment, not knowing quite what to say.

"You killed them," he murmured.

"What?"

"You killed them." Arnold turned around to face the still frightened little girl. His green eyes, gleaming with rage, burrowed into the blonde female's soul.

"You cost me my parents…and I hate you for that, Helga Pataki." His fists clenched, and tears formed in his emerald eyes. "I WISH IT HAD BEEN _YOU_ INSTEAD OF _THEM_!" he screamed at her, pointing to the graves of his parents.

Helga looked past the furious young man and was horrified at what she saw. The charred, mangled bodies of Arnold's parents laid spread out across their graves. The stench was overwhelming, and Helga backed away from the scene slowly.

"DON'T YOU **DARE** WALK AWAY FROM ME, YOU BITCH! THAT'S ALL YOU'VE BEEN DOING FOR YEARS! PICKING ON ME IN 4TH GRADE, PUSHING ME AWAY WHEN ALL I WANTED WAS YOUR LOVE! AND WHEN I FINALLY FOUND JOY IN MY LIFE, YOU TOOK IT ALL AWAY FROM ME! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, HELGA? HOW COULD YOU FUCKING **DO** THIS TO ME?"

Helga turned and fled from the scene, tears clouding her vision. She ran, and ran, and ran...but everywhere she looked it, all seemed the same.

"YOU BETRAYED ME, HELGA!" she heard Arnold cry out behind her in anguish. "YOU BETRAYED MEEEEEEE!"

Helga just kept running until she saw a tall, ominous building looming over her.

PS 118.

Not wanting to face her miserable former lover, Helga flung open the doors to the building and headed inside.

It was bright, busy, and looked exactly as Helga remembered it as a girl. The students (all of which she recognized) walked around the hallways as if it were just another ordinary day of school. She cautiously entered the building, and everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at her, shocked expressions on their faces.

"Look!" Harold called, stepping out of the crowd to point at her. "Helga showed up in her underwear, AHAHAHAHAHA!"

The other students burst into laughter, and Helga looked down to see her ten-year-old self wearing nothing but a white bra and panties. She blushed wildly and bolted back towards the door, horrified to see that it had been bricked up somehow.

"No," she whispered and turned her back to the laughing students, desperately trying to cover herself.

"Hey, look what I found!" she heard Rhonda yell.

Helga's eyes widened in terror as she looked upon the object Rhonda Wellington was holding up for all to see.

It was her beloved gold locket.

"It's got a picture of Arnold in it! And look!" She unclasped the locket, revealing Helga's inscription inside. "It's HELGA'S!" she squealed with wicked glee.

"Helga likes Arnold!" the students began to shout.

"EW!" Helga looked over to see ten-year-old Arnold, one arm wrapped around a giggling Lila Sawyer as his face twisted in disgust. "That's GROSS! As if I could _ever _like someone so…."

"Ugly?" Lila suggested.

"Mean?" Sid yelled.

"Disturbed?" Gerald piped in, and to Helga's confusion and horror, Phoebe giggled.

"Spot on, Gerald," the Asian girl replied, kissing the boy on the cheek.

"How 'bout all of the above?" Arnold revolted.

The students eagerly descended upon the frightened blonde as she backed away from them in terror. She bumped into something and spun around, horrified to find herself face to face with her monster of a father. He looked her up and down, a nasty gleam in his eye.

"I see you're all ready for Daddy," he replied, sliding his index finger down the little girl's bare shoulder.

Helga gasped as she backed away from him and towards the crowd of students.

"Grab her!" she heard one student shout, and the whole crowd headed towards her.

Helga fell to the floor, helpless as the crowd and her terrible father descended upon her. She lowered her head; totally terrified, humiliated, broken. This was Helga Pataki's greatest nightmare come true. Then an interesting thought came to her mind.

Helga Pataki was supposed to be dead, wasn't she?

Now in her teenage form, she slowly lifted her head to glare angrily at the crowd of people descending upon her.

"Get up, bitch," her father said as he stood over his daughter's form. "Time to take your medicine."

"None of you understand, do you…?" Helga spat out. She rose to her feet, her slender athletic form heaving with rage. "I'm not supposed to be afraid of all of you." Her eyes turned a bright, glowing scarlet, and thin needles emerged from the tips of the fingers on her right hand. "YOU'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO BE AFRAID OF **ME**!"

A thick mist of light-green gas surrounded the teenage girl, and she directed it towards her classmates. They choked on the cloud for a few seconds before seeing their greatest fears come to life right before their very eyes.

Harold gazed in horror at his slowly expanding stomach, which showed no signs of halting its progress.

Rhonda screamed in terror as her skin slowly dried up and shriveled on her body, effectively turning her into a living mummy.

Curly reached deep into his sockets, tearing his eyes out as he was unable to witness the horrors of the visions inflicted upon him.

Lila backed into a corner, tearing at her milky white flesh in an effort to remove the spiders crawling up and down her body.

Helga laughed wickedly before turning her attention back towards her miserable excuse for a father. His eyes widened with terror as he backed away from the woman he had intended to rape. Suddenly, he stopped, and a wide grin spread out across his face. "You don't have the guts, Olg-"

He was cut off as Helga plunged her syringed fingertips into his stomach. "Now…" she whispered sweetly into his ear, "let's see what _you're_ afraid of, Bob."

Helga stepped back to observe the effects the fear toxin had on her father.

Big Bob fell to the ground and looked up at his daughter. His eyes grew bigger as he shook his head several times, in disbelief at what he was seeing. Looming over him was the living corpse of a man who was supposed to be dead…a man who looked much like Bob, himself.

"Dad?" Bob gasped.

"You don't think I saw what you did, boy?" the hallucination asked. "You don't think I saw you kissin' on that gay boy down the street?"

Bob quickly shook his head. "No, Dad, I didn't.…"

Bob's father lifted a large, blunt, rusted lawnmower blade. "I'll show you how we deal with faggots in **MY** family, boy!"

"No, Daddy, **DOOOON'T**!" Bob screamed as his father beat him mercilessly with the instrument.

"Father issues, eh?" Helga mused. "How fun."

She waved a hand, and the front of the school crumbled apart to allow her access to the outside world. Before she departed, the young woman turned to admire her handiwork one last time. She gazed at the carnage she had caused with glee and slowly spread her arms wide before her. "Welcome to _my_ nightmare, mother fuckers."

She walked into the darkness. There was nothing else around, but she heard a voice behind her. It was a voice she would recognize anywhere.

"Helga…."

The young woman turned to face the boy of her dreams, just as she remembered him before he left for San Lorenzo (only a little bit older). His brilliant green eyes and warm smile still made her girlhood tremble, and he slowly approached her, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you, Helga," he whispered into her ear. "Please come back to me."

Helga's heart melted at the boy's kind words. She wanted nothing more than to embrace him, to be with him forever just like in a fairytale.

However, she wasn't _that_ stupid.

Arnold jerked backwards as Helga plunged her syringed fingers deep into the young man's heart. "I'm sorry, Arnold," she whispered back to him as his life blood drained from his body, "but Helga Pataki is dead."

She ripped her needles from his body and sent the blond teenager staggering backward, clutching his wound as he slumped to his death on the floor.

"Only the Scarecrow remains." Helga turned and headed towards the end of her nightmare.

Back into the real world.


	5. Night Of The Scarecrow

Beta's note: Helga's right about things being intense. Wait till you get to the end of this chapter. Things are about to really heat up!

* * *

Helga stood in the center of her living room, blinking her eyes rapidly as she recovered from her fear-induced hallucination. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out as she headed towards the kitchen. Then she pulled out a chair and sat down, staring blankly at the wall.

"Well," she said aloud. "_That_ was intense."

She sat there for a few minutes, considering her actions from the hallucination. She had effectively mutilated her former classmates by driving them completely insane, brought her father deep into his own worst nightmare, and even murdered the boy she loved.

Or did she?

Arnold Shortman had been such a large part of her former life, and now that he was gone, Helga wasn't entirely sure just who she was anymore. She hadn't gone into her wistful monologues or even written any of her famous poetry since she had arrived in Gotham. Come to think of it, she barely thought about her former boyfriend since she stepped off that plane at the airport and said her good-byes to Edward Nigma.

"Am I really over him?"

She sighed deeply, sinking into her chair and dragging a hand across her face. Was it really that simple? Truthfully, she held no feelings for him anymore. The warm, quivering feeling in the pit of her stomach had been replaced by gentle nostalgia when her thoughts turned to the green-eyed young man. She sighed again and got up from her seat, heading towards her bags of luggage.

"Better get this show on the road, then."

She opened one of the bags, producing one of her pink jumpers from when she was a little girl. She had no idea why she had brought it. The sight of the familiar pink outfit soothed her for some reason; it made her think of simpler times. She placed the piece of clothing next to her, deciding it would be appropriate to use for her Scarecrow costume. Next, she grabbed an old - yet still very functional - pair of boots and brown suede gloves. Afterward, the blonde teenager walked over to her pink backpack, producing one of Crane's old masks.

"Hm," she pondered while studying it. "I'm gonna have to modify this a little to make it more…'me'."

She grabbed her belongings, along with a needle and thread, and headed for the bathroom. After studying her pink jumper for a moment and deciding that the color was a little off, she went back into the kitchen to collect a few of the various dyes she had bought yesterday while checking out the city. She pulled out a jar of dark-brown dye and poured it into a bowl, soaking her jumper in it. While she waited for her clothes to dye, she went to the mask and with the needle and thread, started modifying it. Suddenly, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was an issue of today's paper.

"What do we have here?" she asked aloud as she gripped the paper and brought it up to her eyes.

On the front page was a blurred image of what appeared to be some kind ghostly individual, complete with thick fog surrounding it shadowy form. The headline at the top of the page read in big bold letters:

_**MYSTERIOUS PHANTOM HAUNTS CITY!**_

"'Mysterious Phantom,' huh?" Helga spoke with an unimpressed tone. "Wait'll they get a load 'a me..."

* * *

A dark figure wearing a black cloak and fedora stared intently at Helga Pataki's window. He placed a freshly-rolled cigarette into his mouth and lit the tip.

"_Seems I'm too late...,_" he spoke to no one in particular.

"**It does, indeed,**" a voice behind him spoke.

A solid white figure, wrapped in a green cloak and hood, stood next the black-garbed individual.

"**If something isn't done soon…the boy WILL feel the wrath of God.**"

"_This situation is MY responsibility, Spectre, not yours._"

"**Let us hope so, Phantom Stranger,**" the Spectre replied ominously as he disappeared.

"_For ALL our sakes…," _The Phantom Stranger finished, then took another puff of his cigarette before he dissolved into the background. "_A storm is brewing._"

* * *

Arnold and Tim had been tracking the black van for the past hour with very little in the way of luck. Whoever these guys were, they had done this before.

Or at least their boss had.

"I thought you said this thing was supposed to be reliable," Arnold grumbled in the chilly night air. The clouds had darkened overhead in lieu of an approaching storm, causing the city to become gloomier than usual.

"It normally is," Robin stated. "Looks like the signal's being scrambled for some reason, though. Guess we lost our element of surprise."

Arnold hung his head low, still haunted by the disappointment of his earlier failure. That woman needed him, and he let her down. The worst part was that she looked so much like Helga.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, man," Robin informed, noticing his partner's depressed form. "If you sit there and dwell on it, then all it does is affect you when it matters most. It only serves to distract you from your mission."

"But…," Arnold stammered, "she looked _so_ much like Helga..."

"That's gotta stop, too," the teen hero replied, setting down his locator for the moment to address his companion. "If you keep seeing her in the face every person we try to help, it's only going to make this job SO much harder than it already is. Trust me," Robin said as he turned his attention back to the locator, "you don't want to make it personal."

Arnold pondered the young Titan's words carefully. He had a point. If Arnold kept seeing Helga in every damsel in distress he came across, it could very well get himself killed.

"Got something," Robin interrupted Arnold from his thoughts.

"What?"

Robin showed his comrade the glowing radar screen, a bright green blip showing up in the right-hand corner of the screen. Arnold poked it with his finger.

"There he is right there!"

"Well done, detective," Robin sarcastically remarked, and Arnold chuckled while rolling his eyes. "I actually think I know where they're heading. There's an abandoned office building on the east side of town. Lots of mafia guys use the parking garage there as a meeting place when they're engaging in…'frowned-upon' activities."

"Well, what're we waiting for then?" Arnold gushed anxiously, slipping his mask back on. "Let's get going!"

"Hang on a sec." Robin quickly grabbed his excited accomplice by the shoulder before he took off. "Look, if these guys are good enough to scramble my tracer, then it probably means that they work for somebody Batman's fought before. So we gotta be careful, alright?"

Arnold nodded his oddly-shaped head slowly.

"That means no spontaneous heroics like back at the parking lot, alright? We gotta come up with a plan, first," Robin informed.

Arnold nodded again. "Did you have anything in mind?"

Robin touched the tip of his chin with his index finger. "I'll think of something."

* * *

The black van, still damaged from its encounter with the Phantasm, pulled into the empty parking lot, where several other vehicles awaited its arrival. The van came to a stop, and the driver exited the vehicle, clutching a black eye he had received during the battle with the Phantasm.

"What the hell happened to _you_? And where're the other guys? There were over a dozen fuckin' guys in the other cars that went with ya, so where the fuck are they?" a man with a black and white pin-striped suit, red-rimmed shades, and slicked-back blond hair stepped away from one of the cars and questioned the driver of the newly-arrived van.

"Got into it with some freak," the driver bitterly responded.

The other man slipped off his shades and headed towards the driver. "The Bat? Is he _here_?" He looked around worriedly and reached for his side-arm pistol.

"Nah, it wasn't the Bat. It was some kinda ghost."

The other man blinked his eyes, staring skeptically at the driver.

"A ghost?" he repeated.

"Y-yeah…," the driver stuttered.

The blond man looked around at each of the other men in the room with an incredulous look on his face and his hands on his hips. He took a few steps closer towards the driver and leaned forward, bringing his face closer. "So let me get this straight. When I gotta see the boss in a few hours, and he has me by the balls, asking what the fuck happened to the _fifteen_ other guys he sent to make sure you didn't fuck this up, I'm supposed to tell him they got whacked BY THE HEADLESS FUCKIN' HORSEMAN?"

The driver tried saying something in response but couldn't find the words.

The blond man put his gun up to the driver's forehead, pressing hard. "I'd blow your goddamn brains out all over the fuckin' parkin' lot, but I don't wanna have another death to explain to the boss. So…," he holstered his pistol and took a step back, "YOU'RE gonna talk to him and explain just what the fuck happened back there. Now, did you bring the bitch?"

The driver nodded stupidly and shouted at the van. The side doors slid open, and a blonde gagged woman in a red dress was thrown out of the vehicle and onto the floor.

The blond man walked towards her, and she whimpered as he kicked her in the ribs. "You think you can turn on the boss and just skip town, Hilda?" The young woman cringed as she struggled to free herself from the ropes binding her hands together. The blond-haired man leaned down, bringing his face inches away from hers. "When the boss gets here, he's gonna have a few words with you."

A white stretch limo pulled into the parking garage suddenly, and everyone made way for the vehicle respectfully.

"Speak of the Devil," he whispered to the frightened young woman, and he stood up straight and took several steps away from her.

A tall African American man in a black suit stepped out of the passenger seat of the limo, walked towards the back of the vehicle, and opened the door for its passenger. A tall man in a clean, white suit and red tie stepped out of the vehicle. He stood next to the car and adjusted his suit swiftly. His penetrating brown eyes darted towards the bound woman, and he made a clicking sound with his tongue. He slowly made his way towards the young woman and stopped. "Where are the rest of the boys?" he asked in a soft, gravelly voice.

When no one said anything, the man in the white suit asked again, his patience wearing thin. "Where are the rest of the boys?"

The blond man stepped forward. "Um, boss...the rest of the boys. They, uhh…the-they got taken out."

"Killed?" the boss asked.

"Um, no."

The boss's head darted towards his subordinate, his dark eyes piercing deep into the terrified man's soul. "The Batman…?" he rasped.

The frightened enforcer quickly shook his head. "Uh, no."

"Then who?"

"Um…a…a g-ghost…?" The boss just stared at his employee for a moment before reaching into his suit coat. The blond man's eyes widened as he threw his hands into the air and backed up. "No, boss! Please!"

The boss pulled a sleek .44 Magnum revolver from his coat, aimed it at his henchman, and fired, putting a large whole into the man's forehead. The blond henchman crumbled to the floor. The man in the white suit replaced the gun back into his coat and walked towards the trembling bound female, his eyes still on his other henchmen.

She looked up at him, noticing the many rings that decorated his fingers. However, she gasped once she reached the man's face. His head was covered in a jet-black, skull-shaped mask. Her lips trembled as they formed the words of his name, and she could have sworn she felt a very legitimate prick of fear in the back of her neck, causing her to flinch. She whispered his name, "Black Mask."

* * *

A slender figure crept into the old building after hearing the commotion from across the street. Something was going on in this old office building, and the curious girl was determined to find out what was going on. As she crawled through the ventilation system, she heard voices coming from a few vents down. The frightening-looking figure hurriedly made its way towards the noise and peered out into a large parking garage. There were several cars surrounding a black van with a frightened young woman bound and lying on the floor next to the vehicle. The entity winced as one of the men in the room - a man with blond hair and red shades - stepped forward to kick the helpless woman in the stomach. The prowler let out a low growl as she quietly worked the vent cover open. Her slender form stalked towards the group of men, and she reached into her satchel, pulling out a small syringe. Then she ducked behind the van and crawled under it; the blonde woman lying just within reach. She carefully stuck the woman in the back of the neck with the syringe, injecting her with its contents, then snickered and reached back into her brown satchel, plucking a canister with a pin on it.

"Time to play."

* * *

Black Mask eyed the young woman menacingly, his eyes searching her slender body. "Where is the money you took from me, Hilda?"

The woman's eyes widened. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sionis."

Black Mask stared at her for a moment, nodded his head, and then turned his back towards her.

"Have fun, boys," he casually told his henchmen who eagerly approached the now screaming woman.

"I can get you the money! Just give me some time!"

"Don't have time for whores," Black Mask replied as his entourage mercilessly tore at the helpless girl's clothing.

Suddenly, two small gray canisters rolled out from under the van, and the group of henchmen stood back.

"What the fuck?" one of them gave a surprised response, and Black Mask spun around.

The driver of the black van cautiously approached one of the canisters and picked it up.

"Put it the fuck back down!" Sionis whispered to him harshly, reaching for his silver .45.

The driver examined the canister curiously, sniffing an open valve. "I don't think there's anything in here, bo-" He stopped in mid-sentence as he turned to look back at his employer, only to gaze at the horrific visage of a ghostly apparition hovering towards him. "JESUS!" he cried as he fell to his back, slowly lifting his arm defensively.

Black Mask's other henchmen stared at their companion with confusion plastered on their faces.

"Mike, what's wrong?" one of them asked.

"You don't see it?" Mike stammered in horror, crawling away from the specter only he could see.

"I see it!" one of the other men shouted, reaching for his pistol. "It's the Bat!" He fired at a nearby wall, then turned and fired again "Shit, he's EVERYWHERE!"

All around, Black Mask witnessed his minions acting like complete lunatics. Some were attacking things that weren't there; others were huddled near their vehicles crying. He had seen these reactions before, in the effects Jonathan Crane's fear toxin brought upon his victims.

"What the fuck is going on?" he thought aloud, quickly dashing into the driver's seat of his limousine and started the engine. He put his foot down hard on the gas pedal and sped off towards the exit of the parking garage. That's when he noticed a sudden movement in his rear-view mirror.

"Going somewhere?" a seductive yet dangerous voice called from the backseat.

Mask jerked the steering wheel to the right, satisfied at the loud thump he heard from the backseat as his unwanted guest's head slammed against the back window. He brought the vehicle to a complete stop and hurriedly opened the door and exited the car. His brown eyes widened as he glimpsed the figure before him. It wasn't Crane, obviously because of the fact that the costumed freak he was now looking at appeared to be female. She had a black funerary hat with a faded red (or perhaps some kind of dirty pink) bow tied around it atop her head; the traditional Scarecrow mask was worn over her face, and a hangman's noose was tied loosely around her neck. Two wild tufts of straw stuck out from each side of her head, slightly resembling her trademark pigtails. On her torso were the remains of Helga's old jumper from when she was a little girl, although she had cut it down into a tight belly-shirt. The color scheme had changed as well, with the colors being a dark violet with a black, horizontal stripe across the bottom. A pair of tight brown slacks with stitches running along the legs was worn on the lower half of her body.

"There's no escape from _me_," she muttered threateningly.

Black Mask glared and whipped out his pistol, aiming it at the costumed woman. "You're makin' a BIG mistake, bitch," he growled.

The Scarecrow leaped towards her opponent just as Mask fired off a round from his weapon. Her eyes widened, and she twisted her body in the air in an attempt to avoid the deadly projectile. She grunted in pain as the bullet sliced past the side of her stomach, drawing blood. Black Mask fired again, and the Scarecrow effortlessly jumped out of the way and onto the roof of Roman's limousine.

"You're gonna learn damn quick why people don't fuck with the Black Mask." Sionis reached behind his back, drawing a second pistol, and fired both weapons at his assailant.

The Scarecrow darted behind the other side of the car for cover and began reaching into her satchel for another fear gas canister. Suddenly, she heard the retreating footsteps of her target heading down the ramp towards the exit of the building. She got up and gave chase, staying low to the ground in case her prey decided to open fire once more. The costumed femme fatale had pursued the masked villain all the way to the exit when another black van pulled up. She came to a skidding halt and dropped to the floor as the side doors of the vehicle opened up to reveal three more of the Black Mask's henchman; each one wielding and firing automatic weapons. The Scarecrow sprung from the floor and back-flipped towards the garage, a hail of gunfire spraying towards her. Luck was with the young woman that night, and her pursuers had decided to flee the scene instead of following her back into the building.

Scarecrow stooped down and leaned against a nearby wall, breathing heavily.

"Shit," she gasped before pulling off her hat and mask. Then she remembered the captured young woman from earlier and decided to prove a point.

Helga slipped her mask back on before placing the funerary hat back on her head.

* * *

Robin came to a sudden halt and put an arm in his costumed companion's path.

"What is it?" the Phantasm asked.

"Gunfire…coming from the office building. We might be too late."

The two masked teens watched as someone ran out of the bottom of the building firing wildly at an unseen figure and then hopping into the passenger seat of a van that had just pulled up. The side doors of the vehicle opened, and a spray of gunfire blasted from the opening. The doors shut just as quickly as they had opened, and the van sped away from the scene.

Arnold turned to address his new friend. "You take the van, I'll check out the garage?" he suggested.

"You sure you're ready to go solo?" Robin asked, lifting an eyebrow.

The Phantasm merely shrugged. "Hey, what could happen?"


	6. The Scarecrow And The Phantom Meet

Beta's note: Getting pretty intense, am I right? Please remember to give some feedback, even if it's as small as "cool chapter". Writers love to know they're being read. ;)

* * *

Hilda squirmed around in her bonds as the terrifying creature approached.

"Don't move," it spoke as it slowly headed towards her. "I'm not going to kill you."

The Scarecrow crouched down in front of the young woman and stared directly into her eyes. For some strange reason, looking at this woman reminded her of Arnie, Arnold's unusual cousin. About two months after Arnold left for San Lorenzo, Helga finally decided to "get back on the horse," as it were. Arnie had been flirting with her for a long time, but Arnold had always been the one Helga had wanted to be with. With her beloved out of the picture, Helga decided to give Arnie a chance and went out to dinner with him. Things had gone well, at first. The young man had changed a good deal over the years. He was actually pretty normal (although he came off a little strong), and Helga was actually having a decent time, for the most part. He was nice, charming…a lot like Arnold, actually. Apparently, the young man had been doing his homework.

Then things went bad.

Arnie had stepped out to take a piss when he was severely beaten in the bathroom. He was in the hospital for two weeks with a broken collar bone, broken arm, and a punctured kidney. Helga had visited him in the hospital to see how he was feeling. When she had walked in, he'd had such a disturbing look of fear in his eyes. He had begged her to leave and never speak to him again. Helga had tried desperately to find out why, but Arnie had alerted the nurses, and she was escorted out of the building. She never saw him again after that. Helga never found out who it was that had beaten her date so badly, but she had her suspicions. When she had gotten home, she had asked her father about it. Bob had paled for a moment, then chuckled to himself. It wasn't like any of Bob's normal laughs. This one was…dark, perhaps even evil. He had refused to talk about the subject, and when Helga had continued to interrogate him, Bob had spun around and slapped Helga across the face. That was the first time he had ever hit her with his bare hands.

Helga shook the memories from her mind, focusing on the task at hand. She pulled a knife from her back pocket and cleanly sliced through the other woman's binding ropes. Hilda brought her hands before her, grasping her raw wrists, and directed her gaze back towards her savior.

"Thank you so much! They were gonna-"

"Shut up," Scarecrow interrupted, clutching the girl's face with her syringed hand. "I'm not here to rescue you. I'm here for information. The money you stole from that man…Black Mask, I believe his name was…what was he planning on using it for?"

"He…," the terrified girl stuttered, "I…I don't know."

"You're _lying_," Scarecrow hissed and squeezed the girl's face even harder, causing the woman to squeal.

"I…I…."

"TELL ME!"

"He needed it to buy drugs."

"What kind of drugs?"

"I-I-I don't know, something called…um…V-Venom…?"

Helga's eyes narrowed beneath her mask. She'd have to research this 'Venom' later. "Is that all?" the Scarecrow asked lowly.

"Y-Yes, I swear!" Hilda cried with fear in her eyes.

"Alright then, get out of here." Scarecrow let the woman go and watched as she ran towards the exit as fast as she could. "Stupid girl," she said out loud. "She's only gonna get herself caught again."

* * *

Hilda ran out into the open street in terror, trying to desperately flee the horrifying creature who had just interrogated her when a mysterious phantom appeared before her out of a thick fog. She came to a screeching halt. "Oh, Jesus, not AGAIN!" she screamed as the figure approached her.

"Wait!" it cried. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Yeah, that's what the last freak said!"

'Last freak?' Arnold thought curiously. The blonde woman dashed to the right, trying to escape from the apparition before her.

"Wait!" Arnold cried again, but she was gone.

He sighed and headed cautiously into the parking garage. For an abandoned building, the place had more than a few cars parked in it, and it looked like quite a struggle had gone on in there. His eyes widened as the Phantasm looked upon a few gang members who had been horribly killed. One of them had bled to death when he ripped his own eyes out, and the other two seemed to have killed each other.

"What in God's name happened here…?" he whispered to himself.

Suddenly, Arnold saw an oddly-shaped shadow out of the corner of his eye and moved to investigate. A mysterious figure was making its way upstairs, and he decided to follow. The figure made its way inside the building and began heading up.

"You won't get away from me _that_ easily," the teenage boy said aloud.

Eventually, the Phantasm had chased his prey all the way to the roof. He threw open the door to the rooftop and looked around to find the object of his pursuit standing on the edge of the roof with her back to him.

"I don't like being followed," she stated plainly.

Arnold slowly closed the door behind him and gulped. This was his first battle with one of Gotham's super-criminals, and he wanted to play it as safe as possible. He turned towards the costumed female and tried his best to strike an intimidating pose.

"You should've thought about that before-"

"You reek of fear," she interrupted.

Arnold paused, stunned by the bluntness (and correct assumption) of her assessment. "I'm not afraid," the Phantasm stated, trying hard to keep his voice as confident as possible.

The Scarecrow chuckled wickedly. "Just keep telling yourself that."

Arnold narrowed his eyes behind his metallic mask. "What you did to those men down there was horrid. You're going to answer for your crimes, whoever you are."

"Those 'men' were scum," the Scarecrow scoffed, "and deserved what they got."

"Those men deserved to be brought to justice, yes, but what YOU did was inexcusable!"

There was a short pause as the Scarecrow slowly turned her head towards her pursuer. "And what, exactly, do you plan on doing about it? You gonna 'haul me in'?"

Arnold brought up his bladed hand, the sharp weapon gleaming in the moonlight, and produced a little more fog for effect. "Or you could just surrender."

The costumed young woman growled and charged at her opponent. Arnold quickly brought up a cloud of fog and teleported directly behind his foe. "Too slow!" he shouted as he sent a kick her way.

Scarecrow narrowly evaded the attack, then swiped at the Phantasm with her syringed hand. Arnold jumped back to avoid it, and the syringes tore into the front of his black costume. Luckily, the needles only scratched the Kevlar he wore beneath the costume itself, and Arnold came back with his fist, sending it right into his opponent's shoulder, causing her to spin on her heel.

The costume girl back-flipped away from the Phantasm and glared at him. "You're not bad, but I've been going easy on you so far."

The Scarecrow rushed at him, and Arnold was prepared to pull his disappearing act once more, but his enemy surprised him by front-flipping over him and landing behind him. Stunned, Arnold tried to turn around to defend himself, but found that his opponent was already one step ahead of him. She brought a lightning-fast foot to his chest, sending him staggering backwards, and then brought it back around to his face, nearly knocking his mask off. Arnold brought his hands up to defend himself, but the Scarecrow simply aimed lower. Arnold groaned in pain and leaned down to clutch his groin, when his enemy brought her foot to his throat. Arnold fell to one knee, clutching his throat and coughing violently.

"Get up, Ghost Boy," the Scarecrow rasped, lifting her foe up by his neck. "I'm not done with you yet."

Arnold quickly jabbed at his attacker's stomach, and she staggered backwards. He then slashed at her with his bladed hand.

Helga threw her torso backwards, ending up with a small, bright-red line of blood stretching across her stomach. "Son of a bitch," she growled.

The Scarecrow kicked her ghostly enemy in the ribs, and then drove two of her syringed fingers into the eye-holes of his mask. Arnold was able to grab his opponent by the wrist through sheer luck before she could permanently blind him. She pulled her arm back and kicked him again in the chest.

Arnold didn't stumble back this time. Instead, he took the blow head on and slammed into the costumed female with his shoulder. She flew back a few feet and was just barely able to keep her footing. She looked up just in time to see the Phantasm's fist plow into her face. She staggered back, unable to defend herself from another blow as the flat of Arnold's blade slapped her across the face. Arnold then delivered a round-house kick to his enemy's chest, and she fell to her knees.

"Ready…," Arnold breathed heavily behind his mask, "to surrender yet?"

The female teenager whimpered and stumbled back to her feet, swaying from side to side as she struggled to keep herself stable. Arnold, fearing that he had seriously injured the young woman, slowly approached her with his hand extended.

"Hey," he began gently as he placed a kind hand on the woman's shoulder, and she collapsed into his arms. "Are…are you okay?"

She breathed frantically for a minute, and then a dangerous grin spread across her face beneath her burlap mask. "I am now," she replied darkly.

The Scarecrow grabbed Arnold by the shoulder, bringing him closer as she plunged her syringed fingers deep into his stomach. "You're pretty good, Mr. Phantom," she whispered sweetly in his ear, "but as long as _I__'__m_ around, you'll _always_ be second best."

She slid her needles out from her opponent's torso, and Arnold gasped as he felt a burning sensation deep within his gut. His breath became ragged, and it hurt to move. A confused expression crossed his face as he tried to pull his mask off so that he could breathe better. He yanked the metallic object from his head, his face still hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, and staggered backwards. He reached the edge of the building and tried desperately to maintain his balance.

His vision blurring and his mouth tasting like copper, Arnold tried to say something to his foe. "Wha…," he stammered weakly. "Wha…." His eyes rolled back into his head, and he plummeted from the rooftop and into a dumpster below. "Unnnngh…" he groaned as he turned over and slowly climbed out of the dumpster. He hit the ground near it and lay there, clutching his wounded and bleeding stomach.

The Scarecrow stood at the edge of the building, watching with delight as the deranged group of Black Mask's gang members, still maddened under the influence of her fear toxin, hungrily descended upon her wounded foe.

"There he is!" one of them shouted. "Get him! EAT HIM! TEAR HIS HEART OUT!"

The group quickly swarmed the young man, tearing at his costume and face; some even biting him. "No…," he uttered weakly, trying desperately to fend off the maddened gang members. "P-Please…."

"He's wounded!" one of them shouted and dug his fingers deep into Arnold's injured stomach.

The young man wailed in pain as the lunatics attempted to rip open his stomach, and the Scarecrow watched with wicked glee, taking notes in her purple notebook. "Yesss," she hissed. "Rip him apart."

As the insane group of men continued to tear at his wounds, Arnold's vision faded. "Helga…," he whispered sadly. "I'm sorry…I failed…."

Arnold Shortman then slipped into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.


	7. The Theory Of Infinite Earths

Beta's note: Earth-213 belongs in the Seeing With Open Eyes universe by yours truly (and those parts are written by yours truly). Expect to see other of your favorite HA! stories referenced in the future as things heat up!

* * *

**Earth-213**

Another wasted evening of doing nothing besides getting called to a meeting and listening to that prick McEvoy go on and on about new office guidelines and budget cuts. Todd wasn't getting out until well after 7 p.m. again, and knowing his luck, Helga wouldn't even have his fucking dinner cooked.

The constant need to kick her ass into gear was grating on his nerves. Of course, he realized that pregnant women grew tired often, but all of the damn time? No, it was obvious that she was just trying his patience on purpose. She always seemed to be pissed at him, and he didn't know why. It wasn't like he didn't provide for her, worked his ass off so she'd never need to worry about doing the same.

Maybe it was time to teach her another little lesson again. Another little reminder that she should be grateful for what he did for her. Hell, he could always send her packing to her parents' house for a weekend. That would probably be enough to scare her into remorse. Have her begging on her knees like a good girl.

Fuck, that was a beautiful image. His pants were already starting to tighten slightly.

He took the revolving doors out of the building, greeting the evening sky with a frown of annoyance. It was almost night, and he had never liked the dark. Too many scary things happened in the dark, things he couldn't see and plan for.

He came to a halt by the alleyway before the parking garage. If he had been honest with himself, this little gap of terror had always bothered him at the back of his thoughts. The remains of boyhood nightmares had always spoken to him ever so softly, telling him of all the things that could be waiting there in the darkest part of the alley. Things just waiting to grab him and do naughty things to him.

He shook his head, trying to regain his steadfast confidence.

Grown men didn't act like little fucking pansies and wet themselves like babies. Grown men told that shit where and how hard to stick it.

Grown men did not shake and sweat profusely, dammit!

He warily peered into that cold little part of the world, almost expecting something to pop out at him.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. Something moved inside of a trash bin, but that was a rat. The little bastards scurried even this close to civilization like an eternal 'screw you' to humanity. Damn, he hated the dirty little fuckers! If they were wiped from the face of the earth, he wouldn't care.

Hesitantly, he started past the edge of the building, creeping slowly as if the Boogeyman would get him. About halfway through after an uneventful walk, he started berating himself mentally for acting like such a flaming sissy, so he straightened himself and began to march off when a loud banging sound came from the trash bin again, startling him to the point where he almost pissed himself.

"F-f-fucking rats," he mumbled and turned to start again when something gripped his shoulder. The idea of it being a damn bum instead of rats raced through his head, even though somewhere deep inside of him was having a hard time buying that. "What the hell, buddy—"

His body was jerked into pitch-blackness, and suddenly, thoughts of being mugged or assaulted flittered through his head. Well, fuck that – NO ONE makes a fool of Todd Warner! Time to teach this homeless faggot a lesson.

A hand curled around his throat and squeezed, and hot rancid breath whispered at his right ear, "Ah, ah, ah, Toddy. You've been a bad, bad boy."

He froze in terror. The last time he'd heard that phrase uttered, it had been from his uncle Earl's crooked mouth. It sent him back to that nasty time living in the old brick Victorian townhouse on Queen Anne Hill, being beaten until he couldn't walk and carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey with his aunt's paring knife.

A foul smell permeated the air around him, and he thought the bastard was in front of him until he realized the odor was coming from him. Christ, he'd just shit himself!

He swung desperately at the darkness before him but didn't connect with anything. Evil cackling filled his ears, and then he was roughly thrown against the wall of the adjacent building, resulting in a loud crack. He landed haphazardly into the rubble beneath him and whimpered in protest. His back, his goddamn back! His fucking back was broken!

The sound of metal scraping metal alerted him that this was just the beginning, and he started to cry because he knew that sound even after all of these years. It was the sound of a knife being sharpened. "Take my wallet, take my car, fuck me, fuck my wife – I don't care! Jesus Christ, just don't kill me!"

There was more laughter, and then voice rasped, "Time for your punishment."

The first slice was always the hardest to take. Metal tore against sinewy bicep like it was nothing more than hot butter, and blood dribbled down his formerly starched shirt. Wildly, he thought that it would take a lot to get that out.

The next cut was at his face, nearly hitting his right eye. It didn't even occur to him until whatever the fuck it was hacked at his belly that this was it. He was going to die in this fucking alley, just like he'd had nightmares about.

The slicing continued, and he started to feel a frigid heaviness overtake him. His body felt slimy – from his own blood, shit, and piss; no doubt. Briefly, he wondered why…why him? What the fuck had he ever done to deserve this?

Something at the back of his head whispered, 'You could have treated her like a human being, not a ragdoll.'

He laughed until he sobbed, and then the butcher knife ripped into his neck, sending him into permanent darkness.

* * *

Helga Pataki, now in the sanctity of her quaint little apartment, pulled off her hat and mask and sat down.

"Well, _that_ was eventful," she said aloud, pulling off her boots and undressing.

The young woman had received a few minor injuries from her encounter with the Phantasm. In the end, however, it was she who had won the day, sending her opponent plummeting to his death. She laughed at the memory as she stripped off the remainder of her clothes and entered the shower. She grasped the nozzle firmly and turned it to the right, shivering as the cold streams of water hit her body, and then slowly changed in temperature. She ran her fingers through her wet hair and turned to let the blast of warm water hit her backside.

'Still…,' she thought, 'there was something…familiar about that masked phantom. Oh well.' She shrugged the thoughts away as she continued to bathe.

_BZZZ BZZZ_

Helga peaked out from behind her shower curtain, her gaze directed towards the pink cell phone vibrating on the bathroom sink. She groaned, having been interrupted from her private time, and reached out to grab the phone, flipping it open. She brought the device to her ear, still poking her head past the shower curtain.

"Hello?"

"This is Dr. Crane," the voice on the other end greeted.

"Oh!" Helga's eyes widened from hearing her mentor's voice. "Yes, Dr. Crane, what can I do for you?"

There was a brief pause.

"Yes…I need you to procure an object for me, a book to be precise."

Helga's brow furrowed. She didn't like the idea of being a delivery girl.

"Umm," she began hesitantly, "suuuurrre. What _kind_ of book?"

"Well…it's not necessarily a book as much as a collection of memoirs."

"Okay," Helga shrugged. "What kind of memoirs?"

"I need you to obtain for me the memoirs of a man named Rip Hunter."

"Rip Hunter?" Helga repeated the name. "Never heard of him."

"Not surprising. He's something of a scientist, brought to my attention by an old friend of mine. The memoirs that I need you to gather regard a very interesting theory of his."

"Oh?" Helga asked, examining her fingernails.

"It is entitled 'The Theory of Infinite Earths'."

"'The Theory of Infinite Earths'…," Helga repeated, unimpressed.

"Yes," Crane confirmed. "You see, Rip Hunter formed a very interesting hypothesis that with every decision a person makes, another Earth is created where the opposite of said decision occurs."

"Sounds like a load of horse-shit if you ask me."

"Well, I _didn't_," Crane shot back angrily. "Your personal opinions are of no concern to me, only your obedience."

"Listen buddy, Helga G. Pataki is _nobody's_ bitch! I'm not some kind of goddamn delivery girl."

"That very well may be," Crane growled back, "but you _are_ my pupil; and as long as you're running away from that useless, pathetic life you used to live, you will do as I say. Is this understood?"

There was a long pause as Helga stood there for a moment, fuming. Then again, what choice did she really have? As much as she hated to admit it, Jonathan Crane had a point. There was nothing left for Helga back in Hillwood; she had left the remains of her previous life behind her. She was the Scarecrow now, and the only person who could help Helga fully immerse herself into that persona was Crane.

Still, though…he was going to have to learn some manners eventually.

"I understand," Helga replied obediently.

"Good. Now luckily, these memoirs can be found right here in Gotham. There will be an Earth and Space exhibit this week in the Gotham History Museum where a guest speaker by the name of Calvin Carson will be hosting a lecture to college students. This man was an old colleague of Hunter's if the information I have received is correct, and will have access to the memoirs I require."

"So what am I supposed to do, kill him and take the memoirs?"

"I really don't care one way or the other _what_ you do. Just as long as you get me those memoirs."

"Will do," Helga informed. "What do I do with the memoirs once I get 'em? Just take 'em to Arkham?"

"I'm going to assume you have caller I.D. on that cell phone of yours?"

"Yes," Helga confirmed.

"Just call this number if you need to reach me, but _only_ once you get those memoirs or in case of extreme emergency. Understand?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Let's hope so." And with that, the line went dead.

Helga sighed and flipped her phone back down, placing it back on the sink. If Jonathan Crane thought he could just push her around forever, he was in for a rude awakening. Soon Helga would be the _true_ master of fear and give the good doctor a taste of his own medicine. The young blonde grinned.

"There's a _new_ Scarecrow in town…."

* * *

"How are ya, buddy?"

Arnold Shortman, sitting up in his bed and staring through a nearby window, directed his attention towards the masked teenager addressing him. Arnold grasped his wounded stomach, rubbing the sore area gently. "Not bad considering I was stabbed."

"Yeah, well," Robin began sheepishly, "you've got our guest here to thank for that."

An older woman with long, raven-black hair entered the room. Her blue eyes glistened, and she gave the blonde teen a dazzling smile. "You gave us quite a little scare last night," she said.

Arnold's cheeks turned a slight pink as his eyes looked the brunette up and down. The woman was beautiful, and her dress choice only caused Arnold to blush further. She was wearing the outfit of a classic stage magician, complete with black bow-tie and fishnet stockings. Arnold gulped as the woman approached him and studied his wound.

"Let's get these bandages off," she remarked and reached out towards the still blushing young man.

Arnold leaned back, his face bright red, and put his hands up defensively. "N-No, it's okay, I got it…!"

The woman leaned back and grinned slyly. "If you insist." Arnold shakily began unwrapped his bandages, not taking his eyes off of the raven-haired woman. She smiled politely. "I don't think we've been properly introduced, yet. My name is Zatanna Zatara, but most people just call me 'Zee'." Arnold just nodded slowly, a blank and somewhat frightened expression still plastered on his face as he slowly unwound his bandages. "This is usually the part where the other person introduces himself," she whispered informatively.

"Oh, umm…," Arnold hesitated, "A-Arnold. My name's Arnold."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Arnold," Zatanna said sweetly, extending a friendly hand towards the young blonde.

Arnold grasped the woman's slender hand with his sweaty one and shook it slowly. Then he let go and finished pulling off his bandages. Realizing he was now half-naked in front of the brunette, Arnold wrapped his arms around his torso and blushed.

"It's gonna be hard for me to look at that wound of yours with your arms in the way," Zatanna informed dryly. Arnold blushed further and slowly dropped his arms down to his sides, allowing the woman to examine his wound more thoroughly. "Now lie down," she gently commanded.

Arnold reluctantly did as he was told, and the woman placed her hands so that they were hovering inches above the blonde teenager's wound.

"Now just relax," she replied soothingly, and Arnold gulped and tried to slow his breathing. The brunette magician closed her eyes and breathed deeply. _"Delaeh eb sdnuow s'nam gnuoy siht yam!" _

Arnold gasped as the long gashes across his waist slowly disappeared. "Wha-?" he cried incredulously, touching the area where his wounds used to be.

"All done," Zatanna declared as she headed towards Robin, who was merely shaking his head helplessly.

"W-What'd you do?" Arnold stammered in awe.

"I healed you," she shrugged. "Sorry, I thought that was kinda obvious."

"H-How?"

"Magic," the woman replied simply.

Arnold looked down at where his wound used to be, deep in thought. "Just like that man…," he whispered.

"Hm?" Zatanna turned back towards Arnold, her interest now aroused. "What man?"

"There was…this man in my room…when I woke up. He knew me…and Helga."

Zatanna turned to look back at Robin, who merely shrugged, then cautiously made her way towards Arnold. "This man…," she began in a curious tone. "did he tell you his name?"

Arnold shook his head. "No. He said it wasn't important."

Zatanna gasped and her eyes widened. She quickly sat on Arnold's bed and leaned in close. "This man…," she whispered to him, "what'd he tell you?"

Arnold looked down, trying to remember his conversation with the stranger. "He said Helga and I were important somehow. Then he started talking about 'other worlds'…and how they were all different except that Helga and I always end up together."

"The Infinite Earths," Zatanna whispered in awe, her blue eyes shining brightly.

"'Infinite Earths'?" Arnold repeated, confused.

"Some people think that there is only one Earth - one existence - but there are others who believe that there are _many_ Earths, _many_ existences." Arnold gave the woman a curious stare. "Arnold," she continued. "the man you met was no ordinary individual."

"Well, I figured that out when the guy disappeared into thin air," Arnold dryly remarked, causing Robin to chuckle a bit.

"Arnold, this is no time for jokes," Zatanna replied seriously after giving the Boy Wonder a dangerous glare. "The being you encountered is a very mysterious individual known only as the Phantom Stranger, and if he really did visit you last night, then you are a very important person."

Arnold gave the magician a very confused look. "I…," he began hesitantly, "I don't understand any of this." He got up and began pacing around the room. "This 'Infinite Earths' thing, this 'Phantom Stranger'." He stopped and faced Zatanna. "I don't want any part of it."

There was a long silence.

"All I want," he continued, "is to find Helga, tell her I'm sorry, and go back with her to Hillwood." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair and looking down at the floor. He shook his head. "That's all."

Zatanna just stared at him, an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry, Arnold," she replied, getting up and heading towards the door, "but you can't fight fate." She turned towards the Boy Wonder, giving him a good-bye nod which the young man returned, and looked back at the blonde teenager. "Good-bye, Arnold," she said, "and good luck." With that, the female sorceress left the two young men alone.

* * *

The Gotham History Museum was quiet that night.

Most of the tourists and visiting students had already left, providing the Scarecrow with the perfect opportunity to break in and get what she needed. Her lithe, athletic form back-flipped from the rooftop of the building, and she caught a nearby rain-gutter and slid down it, stopping at a small window. Still holding on to the gutter, she pulled a glass-cutter out from her back pocket and placed it against the window, carefully cutting out the glass enough for her to slide through. She grunted a bit as she moved her slender body through the opening in the window and dropped lightly to the ground below. She took a careful look around, viewing the darkened room and all of the exhibits behind their glass casings, and carefully headed deeper into the building. The costumed young woman heard footsteps heading her way and quickly ducked behind one of the exhibits.

"This place is boring at night," the security guard said to himself as he passed right by the exhibit Helga had chosen as her hiding place.

The guard whistled as he continued his patrol into the next room, and Helga stepped out from behind the exhibit to make her way deeper into the museum. The Scarecrow crept down the hallways of the building, keeping an eye open for any security guards. As she walked the corridors of the museum the young woman noticed that despite the few guards she had seen along the way, the place seemed to lack the security expected of a museum of this caliber.

"It's quiet," she whispered. "Too quiet."

The teenager cautiously approached a door to in front of her with a sign above it that read "Records Room".

"Lucky me," she chuckled and grasped the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked.

The Scarecrow paused for a moment. Something wasn't right here, and Helga was beginning to think she may have fallen into a trap. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a canister of fear toxin, and then slowly opened the door. The Scarecrow slowly poked her masked head through the opening and took a brief look around. There were large filing cabinets all over the room with a small oak desk in the middle. At the other end of the room was a doorway leading into a few other rooms. The teenager entered the Records Room, closing and locking the door behind her. She crept across the floor of the area and began searching through the filing cabinets for anything involving Rip Hunter, Calvin Carson, or "The Theory of Infinite Earths". She shook her head, not finding anything of interest. She was able to locate a file regarding Calvin "Cave" Carson and his discovery of a race of humanoid creatures that lived underground. Another file, however, (one regarding Rip Hunter) caused her eyes to widen with interest. It involved a story about how the scientist had traveled to the jungles San Lorenzo and set up a private research lab there. She tried searching for more regarding the story, but the rest of the file was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn," she cursed quietly.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flicked on, and the Scarecrow spun around to see a man in a white undershirt, khaki pants, and brown boots standing in the other doorway. "Looking for something?" he asked, grinning smugly beneath his grizzled brown beard.

Helga quickly brought up the canister of fear toxin she was holding, but was surprised when she only brought up an empty hand. "What the-?" she gasped, and the bearded man tilted his head in confusion.

"I'm sorry," he began, "was something supposed to be there?"

Helga growled beneath her mask and pointed a syringed finger his way. "Are you Calvin Carson?" she questioned.

The bearded man nodded his head. "That I am."

He reached into a little drawer beneath the desk, and the Scarecrow tensed, ready to pounce at the large man in case of any danger. Carson pulled out a bundle of papers and held them up for the masked woman to see. The papers read:

"The Theory of Infinite Earths."

At the bottom was printed the name "Rip Hunter".

"Here," Carson replied, tossing the papers to a startled Scarecrow.

Helga took the papers, flipping through them and eyeing the bearded man cautiously. She paused for a moment. "Why are you giving me these?"

"Because that's what I was told to do," was the response.

"By who?"

"I can't tell you that."

The Scarecrow eyed the older man curiously, not liking the unforeseen situation she currently found herself in. "Why?"

Carson shrugged. "Wasn't told why. Didn't bother to ask, either. All I know is, I was told to give you those papers and beg you to destroy them."

Helga, taken aback by this new information slowly lowered her syringed hand. "What…?"

"If those papers fall into the wrong hands, then we're all in deep trouble. Those papers contain every bit of information Rip Hunter collected about the Infinite Earths, including how to travel to them using Rip's Time-Sphere."

The Scarecrow chuckled softly then went silent for a moment. "You're telling me that all this stuff about 'multiple Earths' is _real_?" Carson nodded. "Hm," she muttered as she examined the memoirs a bit more carefully, "and I'm supposed to destroy these documents?"

"That's about the size of it, yes," Carson answered simply.

"What if I decide to just keep them?"

Carson breathed deeply and cocked his head to one side. "That'ssss…not a very good idea. Those memoirs are very valuable to the right people, and if anyone discovered what you had, they wouldn't hesitate to kill you for them."

"I'm a big girl," the Scarecrow replied, placing her hands on her hips. "I can take care of myself."

"That may be, but I was told that you _must_ destroy those papers before it's too late."

"If they're so dangerous," Helga scoffed, "why don't _you_ destroy them?"

Carson shrugged. "Apparently, it has to be _you_."

The Scarecrow eyed the man for a moment, then stuffed the documents into her brown satchel. "I'll think about it."

Carson nodded his head, apparently satisfied with the answer.

"That's good enough, I suppose. However, _please_ heed my warning: those documents are _far_ too dangerous to exist. I truly hope you make the right decision."

There was a long pause as Helga stared at the older man. "Whatever," she finally said, turning his back to him and heading out the door.

When the woman had finally gone, Carson shut his eyes and grinned. "You can come out now," he said aloud. "We're alone."

A dark figured stepped out from a room on the right side of the hallway. "You knew I was here?" the figure asked.

"The whole time," Carson confirmed.

The figure stepped forward. "Then you know I'll be wanting those memoirs."

"You're too late. I gave them to the girl to be destroyed."

The figure clenched its fists. "Then you know what I have to do now."

Carson nodded. "You're free to try."

Helga had made it halfway down the hall when she heard the sounds of a struggle coming from the room she had just left. She paused and looked back then, hearing another noise, rushed back towards the room.

"Carson!" she cried after throwing the door open, and then hurried towards the bearded man who was now lying on the ground with blood spurting from a large gash on his throat.

She crouched down next to the dying man, and he reached up and grasped her hand. He tried to say something but his words came out as only a gargled murmur, and the light left Calvin Carson's eyes.

The brave adventurer was dead.

"Jesus Christ," Helga whispered.

"HEY!"

Helga spun around to see a startled security guard standing behind her with a pistol aimed at her.

"Freeze!" he shouted. "What have you done to Mr. Carson?" he then asked shakily.

The Scarecrow growled and back-flipped towards the other doorway.

"Stop!" the guard yelled and fired off several rounds at the fleeing woman.

Helga dodged and flipped towards the end of the hall, and upon finding a window, crashed through it and landed on a small balcony below. She didn't even bother to look back as she dove off the balcony and onto the rooftop of a nearby building and into the darkness of Gotham City.

* * *

"What'd _you_ think, man?" Arnold asked before putting up his arm to block one of the Boy Wonder's furious kicks.

"I dunno, man," Robin answered, hopping backwards to avoid a flurry of punches from his opponent.

Left.

Right.

Upper-cut.

Jab.

Robin threw up his arms in an "X" and blocked a few more of Arnold's attacks. "I mean," he continued, "I've heard and _seen_ stranger things. The idea of multiple Earths isn't all that farfetched, you know?"

Arnold shrugged and jumped to avoid his opponent's leg-sweep. "I know," he sighed as he continued to block his sparring partner's attacks, "but what does it all _mean_? I'm not some powerful hero, I'm not Batman, I'm not even _you_. I'm just…well…Arnold."

Robin stopped, lowering his defenses as his friend lowered his head and sighed. "Hey…," he said, walking up and putting a hand on the other teen's shoulder, "there's nothing wrong with being 'Arnold'. You're a good guy, man, and I'm damn proud to call you my friend."

The young blonde looked up, a bashful half-smile on his face. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it." Robin smiled back. He then leaned in close, bringing his face next to the other boy's ear. "By the way," he whispered. "you left yourself open."

"Huh? Wait!" However, before Arnold could react, Robin sent a powerful jab into the surprised blonde's stomach. "Oof!" Arnold groaned and doubled over. "You bastard," he wheezed.

Robin chuckled, patting his friend on the back. "We'll work on that more, later. I'm gonna hit the showers."

"Okay," Arnold said after recovering from his sparring partner's sneak attack.

He walked over to a nearby chair and plopped onto it, letting out a long breath. Today's sparring practice was _much_ more intense than what Arnold was used to, and he was worn out and drenched in sweat. He picked up his plastic water bottle and poured its liquid contents onto his face, neck, and the underside of his wrists, and then chugged the rest of the fluid. Apparently, after what happened last night with Arnold's near-death experience, Robin had decided to step-up the blonde teenager's training regimen. It had been a grueling experience; Robin was a hell of a fitness coach. The blonde rubbed his sore muscles and winced as he heard a few pops from his aching bones. The Boy Wonder had not gone easy on him.

Arnold sighed again and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling, thoughts of the previous night running through his mind.

_Tread carefully, __Arnold__…._

He didn't really know what to make of this "Phantom Stranger" guy. His talk about multiple Earths, and how he and Helga were "important" somehow left the young man with a strange new sense of purpose that he just couldn't wrap his mind around. If this guy was as powerful as Zatanna had claimed (and that certainly seemed to be the case), then perhaps Arnold _was_ important somehow.

"Yeah," Arnold chuckled, "maybe I'm the Emperor of China or something like that."

He shook his head, still laughing, when a thought occurred to him. He remembered his previous conversation with Ra's Al Ghul back in San Lorenzo. The eccentric bio-terrorist had brought up the prophecy surrounding Arnold's birth. That someday, he was destined to become some sort of messiah. Maybe there was a bit of truth to this prophecy. Arnold just let out another long sigh as he got up from his chair. If he really _was_ some kind of "messiah", then he was quite thankful for Zatanna's wish of good luck upon him.

He had no idea how much he was going to need it.

* * *

**Earth-213**

Arnold strolled down the familiar sidewalk to the old PS 118 building, whistling a happy tune. For the first time in years, everything felt like it was finally going to be all right. Helga was back in his life, even if she came attached to a scumbag.

He was determined to get her away from there before it was too late.

Phoebe had mentioned to him that Helga was making great progress. Sure, it was Helga, and she'd never be completely normal, but she was eating, and she appeared to be somewhat happier.

God, whenever she paused to smile at him, his racing heart would nearly leap through his throat. She was too modest about her beauty and just didn't realize what she did to him.

There was a light skip to his gait as he rounded the corner next to Green Meats. The sun kissed his face, and he shut his eyes as he reveled in its warmth, pretending it was her gentle hand caressing his skin.

His feet kicked into something lumpy, and he opened them back up quickly to stare down at the obstacle. A hooded figure in an old long trench coat sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, blocking his path.

It didn't even take a fully formed thought to make him dig through his pockets for spare change and extend his hand to the person. "Here, you need it more than me."

The hooded person didn't look up or even utter a small 'thank you'.

Arnold shrugged, dumped the coins into the person's lap, and then made his way around them. It wasn't his fault if they weren't appreciative, right?

His thoughts drifted back to Helga as he continued on. What could he do...what could he say to convince her to leave? He knew - he just knew she'd wind up dead if she stayed with that creep. However, he also knew she was stubborn and refused to budge because she hated change. She'd much rather get beaten than take a risk with him.

Was she taking a risk? He'd assured himself that there was room for her in his life, and hell, if there wasn't, he'd make room! Still...he felt like he was asking too much of her, sometimes. What would her parents think of her? What would his think of him breaking up a marriage? Would anyone understand how much he needed her?

Who cared, dammit? Who cared what everyone thought about the both of them? He was beyond that, and he had told himself that!

His hands curled into angry fists, and he shook his head. Best not to think about it all. He was supposed to be walking to clear his head, not make it even more crowded inside.

So buried deep within his own problems, he didn't even realize he'd walked into someone again until he fell on the ground. "I'm sorry, I didn't see-"

His breath caught. It was the same person as before. Was he walking in circles?

He looked around him and noticed he was close to Gerald Field and home, so no, that wasn't it. OK...the chances of running into another homeless person with the same kind of weathered gear had to be very small, right? Yeah, surely there had to be tons of people walking around with the same dirty tan trench coat and grey hoodie underneath...and the same worn pair of blue Airwalks.

He threw his arms up defensively. "Look, if you want more money, I have a few bucks to spare, but really, that's it." Once again, the hooded figure didn't acknowledge him, so he sighed and grabbed his wallet. "I can give you a $20, but that's all. These are bad times for me, too. I mean, I try to help people out, but I can only afford so much, you know?"

A slender arm reached out toward him, palm side up. Wow, some recognition!

He eased into his familiar gentle grin as he thumbed through his wallet. "Yeah, I really know how it is. I'm glad to help-"

The arm suddenly shot toward him, and a calloused hand gripped him at the base of his neck, yanked, and lifted him off the ground slightly. Sour breath came from underneath the hood, overpowerng Arnold's nostrils with the pungent smell, and whispered into his left ear, "Kindness kills."

Something went off inside of him, and suddenly, he understood he wasn't dealing with just the average homeless person down on their luck. His grandmother's self-defense training tried to kick in, but the psycho was stronger and deflected his weakened moves. Plus, it didn't help that the pressure in his neck was growing, and if he didn't breath soon, he was going to pass out, but the person just wouldn't let go. He struggled against them, and punched and kicked wildly, but they just laughed softly. Their hold tightened, and his breath came in small asthmatic-like gasps. "What...why...?"

"Let's play a game," the scratchy voice mocked. The grip squeezed even harder, and when the choking started, Arnold frantically pulled at the hands at his throat, but it was no use. "Let's see if your head can live up to its shape." Arnold's eyes widened as a cleaver was produce from the trench coat's inside pockets. The late afternoon sun hit the metal, making it gleam.

No! No! No!

He thrashed about again - anything to escape - but those hands weren't about to let go, so he resorted to whimpering as well as he could. Mentally, he tried catching the perpetrator's eye to plead for his life, but they kept their head lowered the whole time and hidden beneath the thick layer of cotton hood.

"Want to play some football, football-head?"

Evil cackling filled his ears as the first successful chop was made, and as his life drained from him onto the littered ground beneath him, all he could think about was how he couldn't fail Helga...but he was.


	8. Tricks 'N' Traps

Beta's notes: Holy friggin' shit, I can't even begin to tell you how awesome this chapter is. You'll just have to read it for yourself.

* * *

"You said he wouldn't be there."

The Black Mask's mysterious visitor stood in the shadows, the fluorescent lights in the room gleaming off the lenses of his goggles. "He wasn't."

"_Somebody_ attacked my boys tonight. If not him, then who?"

The visitor shrugged. "There are many other vigilantes in this city. Could have been Robin or the Huntress."

Black Mask slammed his palms down on the top of his oak desk angrily, leaning forward and narrowing his brown eyes. "You said we wouldn't run into any trouble."

"I said you wouldn't run into _him_."

"Then explain that freak that attacked me last night! She was wearin' one of Crane's Scarecrow masks."

"I'll deal with her when the time comes. For now, just focus on the task at hand."

"I CAN'T focus without the fucking money! If I don't get M that cash, he's gonna take down my whole goddamn operation!"

"That's _your_ problem, not mine."

Mask walked out from behind his desk and approached his guest. "And what's to stop me from telling him that it was _you_ who set up our little deal?"

The visitor merely shrugged. "Go ahead, I've done nothing to incur his wrath. _You're_ the one who owes him money."

Black Mask whipped out one of his pistols and pointed it inches away from his guest's face. "Then maybe I should just waste you _myself_…." There was a blur of motion, and a surprised look appeared behind Roman's mask as he realized he was no longer holding his custom .44.

"I was able to infiltrate the home of Ra's Al Ghul," the masked visitor stated matter-of-factly. "Your threats fall on deaf ears, Sionis."

Black Mask growled as he stepped away from his dangerous guest. "So that's it, then? You're just gonna sell me up the river? You had this planned all along, didn't you?"

"Our agreement was that I would offer you protection from the Batman in exchange for your purchase of M's Venom. To my eyes, we have both upheld our part of the bargain; therefore, I see no reason for animosity."

"You set this up, you son-of-a-bitch!" Sionis roared as he thrust an accusing finger towards the visitor. "I don't know how you did it, but you set us up! You helped that fucking bitch steal from me, and you gave her a way out on purpose!" He lowered his finger, breathing deeply as he shut his eyes and tried to calm himself down. "What I wanna know is…_why_?"

The masked visitor was silent for a moment, then lowered his crossed arms. "Alright then," he sighed. "You've played your part in this drama, so I suppose it wouldn't hurt to reward you with the truth. I let her go because she needed to be there."

"_Where_?"

"In that abandoned building."

"_Why_? What's your interest in Hilda?"

The mysterious stranger slowly approached the confused mob boss and leaned in close. "I wasn't talking about Hilda."

Mask's eyes widened, and he stepped back. "That freak-show…you're in league with that crazy bitch?"

"She and I have never met face-to-face, and I haven't spoken to her either, but she is important to what I am trying to do. I need her alive, I need her strong, and I need her feared. Feared by everyone. Including you, Sionis."

"HA!" Black Mask laughed. "If you think I'm gonna be pissin' my pants over some fucked-up little cunt, you _gotta_ be outta your fuckin' mind. The Mask ain't scared a' nobody. Not even your little gutter-slut psycho."

"Maybe not…," the visitor began as he turned to exit the room, "but know _this_: with our little alliance at an end, I no longer have reason to keep the Batman in the dark about your operations." With that, the Black Mask's enigmatic guest walked out the door.

"We'll see about that," Sionis growled. He turned, walked back to his desk, picked up the ivory telephone receiver that lay atop it, and dialed a number of a person he had no previous intention of speaking to.

"Yeah?" the voice on the other end greeted.

"This is Black Mask…I need to talk to the Joker."

* * *

Jake McCrery stood in the dark alley right next to the old butcher shop his uncle had worked in. He leaned against the brick wall of the building and lit a cigarette, inhaling the noxious fumes of the cancer-stick. "Where the fuck is this guy?" he asked aloud. "I ain't getting' any younger."

Two hours ago, Jake had received a phone call from someone who claimed to have evidence that he raped and murdered a young woman named Helen Parkston. Jake had been very careful not to leave any evidence of his crime and was deeply curious as to what kind of proof this person actually had that would lead to his incarceration. The caller had told him to meet at an abandoned alley on 6th Avenue in between the old McCrery Meats shop and the old haberdashery. He had been waiting for the past thirty minutes, and now his patience was wearing thin. He was getting ready to leave when he heard a movement to his left. He turned to see a figure in a long trench coat with a solid black hat, hiding his face.

"You Deep Voice?" he asked, flicking the cigarette away and walking towards the other person.

"That I am," the deep-voiced stranger replied.

Jake walked towards him and grabbed Deep Voice by the lapels of his coat, slamming him against the wall. "I want those pictures, asshole."

"Of course, of course," Deep Voice conceded, reaching into his left pocket and producing a white envelope.

"Smart guy." Jake grinned, snatching the envelope out of Deep Voice's hand. He tore it open and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper, not noticing the white powder he was getting all over his fingers. He unfolded it and read the word written in the center:

BOO

"'Boo'?" Jake repeated, confused. "This some kinda fuckin' joke?"

"It's no joke, I assure you," Deep Voice began darkly, his voice no longer very deep but rasped and feminine. "It's a little warning from your good pal…," she looked up; her masked face, blue eyes, and stitched mouth now in full view, "the Scarecrow!"

"Jesus!" Jake cried, jumping away from the female villain as she threw off her trench coat to reveal her costume beneath.

"Jake, Jake, Jake," she tsked. "You've been a naughty boy."

"L-Look…," he stammered as he staggered away from the woman, tripping over a trashcan and falling on his butt, "I'm sorry about that girl, okay? I'll turn myself in right now, I PROMISE!"

"I don't care about your sick hobbies, although you'll soon be paying for those anyway. What I wanna know is where I can find Roman Sionis."

"The Black Mask? W-what makes you think I know _him_?"

"I know you're one of his boys, Jacob," the Scarecrow hissed as she stepped closer. "If you tell me where I can find him, I promise to let you live."

"I-I don't wanna get stuck with those needles…."

"You _won't_ if you tell me what I want to know. If not..." She leaned down and brought a syringed finger to the tip of Jake's nose.

"Okay, okay!" he cried. "He's got a penthouse on the lower side of town. It's in the biggest building in that area, you can't miss it."

Scarecrow stood back to her full height, standing over the frightened man. "If I find out you're lying…." She made a slicing motion across her neck with her index finger.

He nodded his head quickly. "I know, I know. I don't wanna get injected with that fear shit, ya know? I got a lotta demons, y'know?"

"Well, you better be ready to meet 'em," the masked teenager said as she walked out of the alleyway. "That white powder on your hands…?" Jake curiously examined the white substance that coated his fingers. "It's fear toxin." His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, and he frantically wiped the substance onto his hoodie. "It's too late, Mr. McCrery."

"No…WAIT!" He tried desperately to catch the female villain, but his efforts were in vain. He gasped in terror, and sweat dripped down his brow. He thought heard a voice and darted his eyes around the alleyway.

"You remember _me_, nigga?"

Jake spun around towards the back of the alley, and his jaw dropped as a large black man walked out of the shadows and headed towards him.

"I'm the nigga you shot, mothah-fuckah."

Several more people emerged from the shadows: a teenager in a hoodie, an older man in a tuxedo, a woman with a mohawk and a lip piercing, a little boy with a red balloon, and another teenager in a white undershirt and blue jeans.

"We _all_ are."

"Oh, God, no…!" Jake gasped in horror. He got to his feet and dashed for the street, but came to a dead halt when a familiar figure blocked his path. She had a beautiful white wedding dress on, yet it was splotched with large blood stains on the front. Her hair was black, and her face was bone white. She stared at him with those cold, blue eyes of hers. She was once known as Helen Parkston. She had been raped and stabbed to death two hours before her wedding.

"No…," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "Not _you_…!" He staggered backwards, away from the ghost of the woman he had violated and murdered. He wound up stumbling again and tripping over a cardboard box. He fell flat on his face this time and flipped over to see his former victims descend upon him. "NNNOOOOOOO!"

"Pull his damn pants off!" the black man screamed, unbuckling his belt. "Imma do this nigga like he did _her_."

The Scarecrow, perched atop a gargoyle on a nearby building, watched the scene in utter delight and basked in the screams of her latest victim as his greatest fears tore his mind to pieces. "See you in your nightmares, Mr. McCrery."

* * *

"So you're _sure_ you don't know anything?"

Robin and the Phantasm had spent the better part of the evening trying to gather any useful information regarding Gotham's newest costumed figure - the one that had nearly killed Arnold the other night. Their search had proved quite fruitless, with none of the Boy Wonder's usual connections knowing anything about the mysterious masked woman. Currently, they were at the home of Lonnie Jackson, a former crack dealer Robin had busted a few years back. He had been released from prison early due to good behavior and helping the police locate other notorious dealers throughout the city. Lonnie was a good man though still somewhat of a coward; obtaining information from him wasn't very difficult under the right circumstances.

Having a metal pole pressed against his larynx was considered "the right circumstances".

"I'm tellin' ya, man," Lonnie pleaded, "I don't know anything!"

"Well, _I _know your cousin, Jamal, is running with Black Mask's gang. I _also_ know you've been talking to him and his associates quite a bit over the past few months. You wouldn't be thinking about violating your parole, _would_ you, Lonnie?"

"Hell no!" Lonnie cried, waving his hands in front of him defensively. "You know I don't wanna go back, man. I _hate_ prison."

"You must've seen _something_, Lonnie," the Phantasm insisted from behind Robin.

Lonnie paused to think for a moment. "Well…," he began, "I _did_ see this one guy…."

"_What_ guy?" Robin growled, losing his patience.

"A-a guy in a black ski mask and goggles...looked like some kinda commando or somethin'."

"Commando?"

"Yeah, some kinda G.I. Joe lookin' nigga, man, I ain't know."

Robin looked back towards his partner, a curious look on his face. The Phantasm walked over towards Lonnie, and Robin stepped aside to let his friend do the interrogating. Arnold threw him against the wall, pressing the blade on his right gauntlet against the frightened man's throat.

"Whoa, WHOA, dog, take it easy!"

"Shut up," the Phantasm growled. "I want you to tell me everything you know about this commando."

"The guy made a deal with Mask. If Mask bought these drugs, the guy would protect him from the Bat."

"Did he give a name?" Lonnie paused to think for a moment, and Arnold shook him roughly. "Did he give a name?" he shouted again.

"Y-yeah! H-he said his name was…uh…E-ebony. He said his name was Ebony. Least that's what I heard."

"Ebony?" the Phantasm repeated.

"Yeah…I-I think that's what he said…Ebony."

The ghostly figure looked back at the Boy Wonder, who merely shrugged, then back at Lonnie. "Did he happen to mention anything, anything at _all_, about Miles or Stella Shortman? Or a place called San Lorenzo?"

Lonnie shook his head. "N-no…. No, I didn't hear anything about those people, or San…whatever."

Arnold let out an exasperated sigh from behind his mask and slowly released his grip on the frightened man. He walked back towards Robin, and the teenage hero patted his weary partner on the shoulder.

"There _was_ somethin' kinda…weird, though." Arnold stopped and looked back. "The guy," Lonnie continued, "h-he...he had a…necklace or somethin'."

"A necklace?" the Phantasm repeated curiously.

"Yeah. It was like a pendant…or a locket or somethin'."

"What'd it look like?" Arnold asked as he walked towards the older man.

"It was gold…and shaped like a heart! I remember thinkin' that was kinda weird when I saw it. Like, why would a guy so tough lookin' be walkin' 'round with somethin' like _that_, y'know?"

"You did good, Lonnie," Robin said. "Keep an eye out for us, alright?"

"No problem, dawg. Long as it keeps my ass outta jail, I ain't got no problems spyin' on them niggas, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," replied the Boy Wonder as he guided his friend towards the window. "We'll keep in touch, Lonnie." And with that, he and the Phantasm leaped out into the darkness of Gotham City.

"What do you think, man?" Robin asked when the two had made it back to the loft.

"I know _one_ thing," Arnold began after removing his metallic mask, "the man responsible for the death of my parents is here in Gotham…and when I find him, I'm gonna make sure he pays for what he did to them."

* * *

A box of Fruity Pebbles, a gallon of milk, six cherries, and a bag of sugar all sat in a perfect little line on the Joker's kitchen counter. The breakfast of champions. Joker hummed a little ditty from an old show tune as he poured some of the cereal into a large bowl, then the milk, then the cherries, and finally half the bag of sugar. He then strolled into the living room with his meal still wearing his Batman underoos and plopped down in front of the TV. He flicked it on, and the image of a man in a black suit and brown hair appeared. He sat behind a desk and gave reports of the week's current events.

"-aven't received any word on the possibility of multiple-" The man was cut off as Joker changed the channel using the remote control next to him.

"It's time for A-ni-ma-niacs!"

"YES!" Joker cried with a swift pump of his arm. "And we're zaaany to the MAX!" he sang along, shoveling a spoonful of sugary cereal into his mouth. He danced around to the theme song, bouncing back and forth and poking at his cereal with the spoon in his right hand.

"Hey, Boss!" one of Joker's face-painted henchmen called. "You got a visitor!"

"A visitor?" Joker repeated. "Now who could be visiting lil' ol' me at _this_ hour?" He tossed the bowl of cereal, sugar, and cherries over his shoulder and hopped to his feet. "One miiii-nuuuute…!'" he sang in a high-pitched voice as he swiftly made his way towards the closet, threw the door open, and dashed inside. He came out a minute later wearing his trademark purple suit and walked out of the living room and into the "war room". It was a large, open area with a circular table in the center and three chairs surrounding it. In one of those chairs sat the man known only as "Ebony".

"Morning, Snake Eyes!" the Joker cried, spreading his arms and walking towards his masked guest. "Don't be shy; give us a hug, old pal!"

Ebony motioned towards the Joker's right hand where the Clown Prince of Chaos wore one of his infamous killer joy-buzzers.

The Joker looked to the device then feigned surprise. "Whoops!" he chuckled, removing the deadly toy and placing it in his coat pocket. "Forgot that was there." He plopped down in one of his chairs and stretched his feet out on the table, reclining back in the wooden piece of furniture. "So what brings you into _my_ neck-of-the-woods, Ebbie?"

"I just got back from my last meeting with Roman Sionis," Ebony informed.

"Oh yeah? I've been wondering what Don Skeletor has been up to, lately."

"He's smarter than I originally believed. He figured out it was _me_ who stole that money for Hilda so that she would run off, get caught, and taken to that old building where she would meet Ms. Pataki."

"Good, good," the Joker said as he nodded his head and smiled, "but why do I get the feeling that you had another reason to set up Helga's little playdate?"

"Well, we needed to get rid of him anyway. Sionis has already outlived his usefulness and knows too much. Can't have him blabbing to the wrong people, after all."

"Oh, no, no, no...that just wouldn't DO. So I'm assuming Mr. 'M' is gonna do the dirty deed _for_ you, am I right?" Ebony tilted his head in confirmation, and the Joker laughed hysterically. "But what about our _other_ friend? What if _he_ spills the beans on our little game?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to _you_ about. You know him better than I do, Joker. Have a word with him and see if you can 'convince' him to keep his mouth shut, but keep in mind that we need him _alive_. He could still be useful to us."

"Of course not," Joker agreed. "After all, I wouldn't want to hurt an old friend…_much_. Hehehehehe!"

"I'll leave it to you, then," Ebony said, getting up from his chair. "Just get the job done right. Is that understood?"

The Joker got up, as well, and leaned forward as he spread his hands across the top of the table. "Yeah," he confirmed dangerously, "but I think you're forgetting just who's in charge of this little drama."

"I haven't forgotten," Ebony remarked as he made his way towards the door. "I know _exactly_ who's in charge," he took one last over-the-shoulder glance towards the Joker before walking out the door, "and it sure as hell isn't _you_." He headed outside, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving the Joker alone with his men.

"That's what _you_ think, my not-so-enigmatic friend," the murderous harlequin giggled.

"'Don Skeletor'?" a voice said from behind the Joker.

The maniacal clown looked over his shoulder to see his hidden guest, the Black Mask, emerge from a shadowy corner of the room; having heard the entire conversation. "Hear anything useful, Don?" he chuckled.

"Nothing I haven't heard already, but at least I know he was planning on feeding me to the sharks the whole damn time. Gotta say though, I wasn't expecting to learn that _you_ were in league with that piece-of-shit. You know he's just gonna shoot _you_ in the back, too. Just like he did _me_."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Joker shook his head and waved a finger. "_I'm_ not as gullible as _you_, Roman. I expected him to do something like that all along."

"Yeah," Mask growled as he straightened his white coat. "To be honest, I hope you both wind up killing each other. It'll be one less psycho and one less shit-stain."

"Come now, Bone-Head," Joker began playfully as he inched towards Sionis and patted the irritated mob boss's shoulders, "I haven't forgotten about my old buddy, ya know…?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

The Joker grinned devilishly. "You want revenge, right? Well, it just so happens that I've arranged for a little something that might just brighten up your day," he giggled as he lightly slapped the side of Roman's mask.

"Just get to the fucking point!" Mask roared, slapping the clown's hand away roughly.

"I had my boys drop a little info," the Joker spoke as he circled around his guest, "regarding your ties to a sorry sap named Jacob McCrery…."

"To who?"

"The little Scream Queen that's been running around with a bag on her head and stealing Johnny Crane's old shtick."

The Black Mask's eyes widened. "That new Scarecrow bitch? That cunt was snooping around my parking garage a couple nights ago. Took down some of my best guys. Fuckin' slut."

"I'm suuuuure, by now, your old buddy's told her all about where to find you." Joker, now standing behind the Black Mask, delicately placed his gloved hands on the mob boss's shoulders and tilted to the side; he then brought his head around so that his face was inches away from Roman's ear. "I think it's time you planned a little surprise party for the little lady. She's had it rough, after all."

"Oh, she'll have it _rough,_ all right. My boys'll see to that."

"Then it's settled!" Joker piped up as he patted his hands on Black Mask's shoulders, then stepped back in front of him.

"What about _you_?" Roman asked, not really caring. "You prepared for that piece of shit to stab you in the back?"

The Joker grinned wickedly and chuckled under his breath. "Ohhh…I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." At the word "sleeve," he whipped out a playing card - the Ace of Hearts - and displayed it to the masked mobster. "And by the time this is all over, _I'll_ be holding all the cardsss," he hissed before laughing; then flipped the Ace over to reveal a Joker on the other side.

Black Mask nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever it was Joker had planned. "Just make it brutal and bloody…but I know that won't be a problem for _you_."

"You know me all too well, Romeo, hehehehe," the Joker giggled as he placed the card into his jacket.

"Take care, Smiley," Roman said as he made his way out the door.

"Hehehehe," the Joker cackled once Mask was out of sight. "BOYS!" he hollered and extended his right arm dramatically. "Bring me my casting list…we've got a new actor for our little play!" Joker chuckled and then reached into his coat, producing a small, circular mirror. He stared lovingly at his reflection and sighed dreamily. "Whose red-hot lips do _I_ want to taste?" He then puckered his lips at his reflection and started making kissing noises. Joker felt a familiar rumbling rising up from his belly, and he let out one of his trademark Joker laughs. "Hehehehehe, Ahhhahahahahahaha, AHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

* * *

**Earth-47**

Arnold Shortman, age 16, walked up the stairs and into his old room in the attic of his grandparents' boarding house. He set his belongings on the floor, next to his bookcase, and strolled over to his old bed. He hadn't seen the place in nearly two years, and the place was exactly as he had left it when he left for San Lorenzo at age fourteen. The bookcase and the updated sound system had been added when he was thirteen. He only had had one year to enjoy them, but he loved reading his books and listening to his jazz music. It had always soothed him and kept his mind sharp. Since he had been gone, his ex-girlfriend, Helga, had made the stupid mistake of having unprotected sex with Wolfgang. She was pregnant and alone. Her parents wanted nothing to do with her, she was constantly teased in school, and the pregnancy had begun to take its toll on the young woman physically. She was no longer the bright-eyed firecracker Arnold remembered. Now, she was a sad, lonely woman whom life had beaten down. Arnold truly was sad for the girl. In one moment of heated passion, the poor girl had ruined her entire life. The blond football-headed boy felt sorry for her and wanted to help - truly he did - but what could he do? After all, it was _her_ decision. Why did Arnold have to bother with it? If she was going to go around, sleeping with any guy who'd have her, then that was her business, not his.

"If she wants to live like that, then it's no concern of mine," he stated aloud. For a moment, he considered helping the young woman raise her child. After all, Helga Pataki had always held a place in his heart, and he wanted desperately to help her any way he could, but now, there was more to his life than the trials and tribulations of his former classmates. He was a hero who had spent the past two years jet-setting around the world with his parents and helping the inhabitants of third-world countries all across the globe. There were people around the world who needed him more than Helga. Besides, why should _he_ be the one to pay for Helga's mistakes? It wasn't his fault Helga couldn't keep her pants on. He shrugged the thoughts away as he opened a nearby window and stared into the night sky.

"Pleasant night, eh, Arnold?"

"What?" the blond boy spun around to see an intruder standing wearing a red hoodie and brown trench coat in front of his door. Arnold squinted to get a good look at the face, but there was too much shadow. "Who are you?" the teen asked.

"You've got a nice little set-up for yourself, Football-Head…," the intruder mused, walking to the center of the room and taking a look around. "Yeah…nice little set-up. I hear you got an interview tomorrow with the local newspaper? Must be nice to be so famous."

"Is that what this is about…?" he blond teen asked shakily as he inched towards his old baseball bat. "Y-you want to…uh…interview me?"

"Something like that, yes," the intruder hissed.

"Well, um, w-what would you l-l-like to know…first?"

"I'd like to know," the hooded figure began, "how such an idiotic freak-of-nature like yourself," at the word "freak", the intruder violently threw the coat-rack by Arnold's door to the ground, "like _you_ could possibly be considered a 'hero'."

Arnold quickly grabbed the bat and dashed towards the intruder, swinging the dangerous piece of wood wildly. The intruder was able to dodge the flurry of swings with ease and quickly disarmed the younger opponent. Arnold backed away in fear as the hooded figure waved the bat towards him and stepped forward. The intruder then swung hard, and Arnold leaped back as the business end of his baseball bay connected with his computer screen, sending sparks and pieces of glass flying everywhere.

"Jesus!" Arnold cried, then screamed in agony as the intruder's second swing connected with his elbow. He leaned down in pain, favoring his wounded appendage, and the hooded stranger brought the bat down on his back. "AAAAHHHHH!" the young man screamed in pain. He desperately tried for a mad dash to the door but was caught in the back of the knee with another powerful swing of his baseball bat. The teen whimpered in sheer agony, his teeth cracking as he gritted them together in an attempt to hold back his cries of pain. Tears streamed down his face as he limped towards the door.

"I'm not done beating on you, yet, Football-Head." The intruder grabbed Arnold roughly by the shoulders and slammed him hard into his bookcase. Then he pulled him forward and sent a fist hurtling into the teenager's jaw. A tooth flew from the blonde's mouth, and he moaned in pain. The intruder then slammed Arnold straight through his closet door. After sharply jerking him out of the closet, the hooded person punched the boy in the stomach, making him puke blood all over his floor.

"P-p-please…," he gasped weakly, "no…n-no more…."

"What was that?" the intruder mockingly asks, bringing his/her - Arnold couldn't tell - face closer to Arnold's. The broken teen then used that as an opportunity to headbutt his attacker in the face. The hooded figure reeled back in pain, releasing his grip on the younger man; allowing him to break free. Instead of going for the door, Arnold decided to head up through the skylight. This person was obviously dangerous and was capable of putting his family in danger. With any luck, the green-eyed boy could make it to the fire escape and out into the street where he could safely hide from his attacker.

"Hey, Arnold."

"Huh-OOOF!" Arnold turned around only to be met with a white boot to his chest. The injured young man stumbled back and was unable to throw up any kind of defense against his assailant's barrage of attacks. Another kick to the jaw, a fist to the eye, another fist to the stomach, then another and another, followed by a straight jab to the nose. The battered teen lurched backwards only to be grabbed by the front of his shirt and pulled face-first into the hard forehead of his attacker. Blood splattered across the bright-red hoodie the intruder was wearing, and Arnold, his face beaten beyond recognition, tried desperately to fall to the ground in defeat.

However, his attacker wasn't quite done with him yet.

"P-_PLEASE_…!" Arnold sputtered, tears sliding down his face as he begged for his life. "S-s-s-sto-op," he sobbed, hot urine streaking down the front of his pants as he soiled himself in fear.

"Jesus Christ," the hooded killer muttered in disgust. "You fucking sicken me, Arnold. You always _have_. Why can't you just grow up and be a man, for once in your pathetic life?"

"I-I-I _will_!" Arnold cried between heavy sobs. He whimpered as the hooded figure pulled him close.

"It's too late for that, Bucko…," the killer whispered, and Arnold's eyes went wide with horror. "_This_ is for the life you destroyed." And with that, the hooded killer hurled Arnold's flailing body right off the roof of the Sunset Arms boarding house.

The teen made no noise until his body hit the pavement below with a sickening thud. His head was cracked open, and blood and bits of brain matter spilled out all over the street. A horrified shriek could be heard as Stella Shortman dashed out of the building, her husband by her side, and sprinted towards the lifeless form of her football-headed child. "NNOOOOOO!" she screamed into the night, cradling her son's lifeless body.

"Not my _**BOOOOYYY**_!" Miles Shortman shouted to the Heavens in agony.

The hooded murderer of Arnold Shortman gazed down at the scene below with grim satisfaction, then turned and headed for the invisible Time-Sphere parked on the roof. The killer entered the sphere and set a course for the next victim.

* * *

The Scarecrow gently pushed open the window into the abandoned warehouse where, hopefully, she would find the Black Mask. Her agile form crept into the building, and she lightly dropped to the ground. Carefully taking a look around, the young woman stepped cautiously across the floor of the building. Thinking she had heard something on the catwalk above, she looked up to see a bright light hit her.

"Thought I'd forget, didn't ya, bitch?"

She threw up her forearm and squinted at the form of Black Mask standing next to the spotlight that was shining down on her. "You knew I was coming?"

"Oh, I knew. It was an easy matter of setting the right trap for you." Mask snapped his fingers, and two dozen of his men emerged from the shadows and headed towards the costumed female.

She looked back at the masked mobster. "You think these losers can take _me_?"

"That's the plan," Sionis responded.

Helga grinned beneath her mask and directed her gaze back at Mask's thugs. "You're gonna need a Plan B…." She dodged the first blow - a man with a swinging chain - and sent a foot straight to his groin. The next two guys came at her with a knife and baseball bat respectively. Scarecrow ducked beneath the bat, countering with a punch to the gut, then side-stepped the knife thrust and grabbed the attacker's wrist. With one swift movement, she snapped the man's wrist and quickly leaped away from another swinging chain. She leaped behind a large group of metal canisters, and her eyes widened as she read the "flammable" warning on the side of each container. "Well, that explains why they aren't using guns!"

She jumped on top of the containers, gaining the high ground. Three men started climbing atop the canisters in an effort to get to the young woman, but Scarecrow kicked and swiped at them with her syringed hand. One man, however, managed to grab hold of her ankle and pulled her off the containers. The teenage girl maneuvered her fall so that she was able to land atop the man, and she jumped off just as another thug punched her in the face with a pair of brass knuckles. She staggered back and was able to block a baseball bat with her forearm while side-stepping another switchblade. The knife wound up slicing through her costume all the same, and she growled as she brought up a knee to her attacker's jaw. She felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as a second knife plunged into her soft flesh. The Scarecrow growled in frustrated pain, and she sent the back of her fist straight into her attacker's face, then slashed the face of another assailant who came at her with a lead pipe. The gangster howled, grasping his wounded face, and Helga kicked him in the stomach. She then jumped back and glared at the remainder of her attackers, sizing up the situation. Her fists clenched at her side and a low growl escaped her lips.

"COME ON, YOU FUCKERS!" she yelled, jumping into the group of Black Mask's thugs. Sionis watched in mild surprise as the young woman became a blur of motion. She picked up a nearby baseball bat and swung furiously at her opponents, utilizing her syringed fingers to swipe and stab at anyone trying to make a counter-attack. She fought brilliantly, taking out at least a dozen of Roman's men before bounding away from the group and pausing to rest. The Scarecrow's legs wobbled, and her breath came in heavy gasps as she held up her clawed hand and the remains of her wooden weapon in defense. The group stopped as the sound of clapping came from the rafters.

"Not bad, kid," Mask replied, genuinely impressed. "You should come work for _me_. I could sure use a bitch with your kinda skills in my operation."

"You can take your offer and shove it up your ass," Helga huffed smugly. "I'm a free agent."

Black Mask shook his head in disappointment, pulling a small remote control from his jacket pocket. "That's too bad," he said as he pressed a button on the device. Four of Roman's thugs stumbled forward and tore off their jackets, revealing metallic devices attached to their wrists. The men bulged and grunted as their muscles grew in size. The four gangsters were now eight-feet tall and bugling with muscle. "Now I gotta bring out the big guns."

"Shit," Helga muttered as she stepped away from the Venom-powered thugs.

Two of them charged at her, and the young woman front-flipped over the huge men, landing between the other two. She stabbed one with her syringed hand and kicked the other, but her efforts had little effect. With the Venom pumping through his system, Helga's fear toxin was useless against the first hulking gang member. Her kick to the second Venom-powered gangster was equally ineffective. He grabbed the costumed female by the back of the head and slammed her face into the concrete floor. The monstrous thug laughed as he slowly lifted up the bleeding woman and tossed her across the room like a rag-doll.

The Scarecrow tumbled across the floor and crashed into a support beam. As soon as she hit the wooden structure, the remainder of Black Mask's regular henchmen descended upon her; wailing away with bats, pipes, chains, and various other instruments of pain.

"That's enough," Sionis addressed his men, and they immediately ceased their brutal assault on her body. Mask leaped down from the catwalk and landed on his feet. He then motioned for his boys to step away from the subdued young woman.

The Scarecrow lay on the ground, struggling to get back on her feet after the vicious beating she had just received. "Gnnnhhh…" she gasped, trying to speak but only spitting up blood. She managed to get to her knees when she felt something press against the back of her head.

"I gave you a way out, kid," Mask said to her as he thumbed back the hammer on his gun. "Now I gotta make an example of ya." His finger wrapped around the trigger. "Any last words, bitch?"

There was a sound like that of a whirling piece of metal slicing through the air. A loud clang echoed throughout the room as the black piece of metal connected with Roman's gun, sending it flying from his hands and across the room. Roman's eyes widened behind his mask as he stared at the bat-shaped shadow on the floor, and he spun around towards the catwalk to see the brooding figure of the Batman standing in front of the spotlight.

"How long did you think you could hide from me, Sionis?" the Dark Knight roared. He sprung down from the catwalk and landed in the middle of the group of Mask's thugs.

"Kill this motherfucker!" Mask shrieked, and his boys eagerly descended upon the Batman. Before they could reach him, the masked detective removed a smoke pellet from his utility belt and tossed it on the ground. A thick cloud of smoke enveloped the vigilante, and Mask's henchmen were thrown from the cloud seconds after entering. A batarang flew through the smoke cloud and smashed into the spotlight, taking out the only source of illumination in the room.

"Goddamn it!" Mask bellowed as he drew his second automatic pistol and fired into the cloud of smoke. The bullets passed right through, and Sionis heard a loud thud as one of his Venom-injected henchmen fell to the ground. "Son of a-GAAAAAHHH!" he wailed as he felt the Scarecrow's syringed fingers stab into the side of his leg. He pointed his gun at the last spot he saw the costumed woman and fired, enraged to hear the bullets hit bare concrete.

"Anybody wants to get through this door," one of Mask's hulking thugs yelled as he blocked the only exit with his enormous bulk, "is gonna have to go through _me_!" Immediately after saying this, a batarang flew into the device on his wrist, smashing the machine that delivered the Venom to his body. "Oh, damn," the henchman muttered as he felt the venom slowly burn away from his system. The last thing he saw before sinking into unconsciousness were the boots of the Caped Crusader as they crashed into his face.

Batman grunted as one of the other Venom-powered henchmen wrapped his arms around his torso and began crushing the life out of him. The detective removed a small pellet filled with sulfuric acid from his utility belt and emptied it into his attacker's eyes. The monstrous gang member screeched intensely as he released his grip on the crime-fighter. Batman delivered a swift kick to the henchman's groin and a right cross to his jaw, dropping the monster-man instantly. The final Venom-powered thug charged at the Dark Knight and slammed him through one of the building's support beams. Thinking quickly, the Batman activated a device on his belt that released a stream of oil onto the floor, causing the henchman to slip and fall flat on his back and release his hold on the vigilante. Batman leaped off of him before hurling a batarang into the Venom-injector on the gangster's wrist.

Having taken down the last of the Black Mask's cronies, the Batman decided it was time to take down the leader; but the masked mob boss was nowhere to be found.

"Goddamn freak," Sionis grumbled to himself as he darted out of a secret exit to the roof of the warehouse. As soon as he opened the door, however, he was treated to a swift kick to the face, courtesy of Helga G. Pataki.

"I'm through fuckin' around," the Scarecrow spoke ominously, her mask torn and exposing the bottom half of her face. The costumed female sent another kick to the mobster's chest, and then brought it around to the back of his head, sending him tumbling forward and out onto the roof. The woman threw a punch towards her opponent, but Sionis was fast enough to catch it and countered with a jab of his own straight into Helga's exposed jaw. The young woman quickly recovered and came back with a flurry of mad kicks and punches towards her masked opponent. Roman was able to throw up a decent defense against the furious female's onslaught, but a few well-placed kicks were able to get through.

"To hell with this," Mask snarled and whipped out his automatic pistol, firing it at his female opponent.

Helga was able to cartwheel away from the burst of gunfire, but one bullet managed to hit her in the shoulder. She grasped her wounded arm and hopped back as the gangster continued firing at her. She was able to hide behind an air conditioning unit and covered her ears as the gunfire ricocheted off the metal device.

"Come out, bitch!" Mask shouted as he fired again at the AC unit. "You can't hide forever." He heard something fast coming towards him and spun around just in time to shoot a whirling batarang out of the air before it disarmed him.

The Dark Knight stood in the doorway and narrowed his eyes. "It's over, Roman. Give it up."

"Fuck you!" Mask shouted back, firing his pistol at the cowled detective with wild abandon.

Batman rolled away from the gunfire, taking a small amount to his Kevlar-covered costume, and tossed another batarang at his attacker.

"Thought you learned from last time," Mask replied as he fired at the metallic projectile. This batarang wasn't the same type as the last one though. Upon contact with the first bullet, the batarang exploded, sending the Black Mask flying towards the edge of the roof. He toppled right over the edge, but was able to grab onto the side to prevent falling to the pavement below.

Helga walked over to him and cautiously leaned over the edge. She was met with a barrage of gunfire to her face, tearing away the remainder of her mask and leaving a bloody gash on her right cheek. "Son of a bitch," she complained, preparing to stab the villain in the hand and send him plummeting to his death.

"Helga!" Batman shouted, and at the sound of her name, the young woman froze and looked back towards the Dark Knight. "Step aside," he ordered lowly, and the blonde teenager did as she was told. Batman flung a batarang down at the clinging villain and heard the sound of metal on metal, as well as a curse from Black Mask. The Caped Crusader reached down and grabbed Sionis by the collar of his shirt, then hurled him back over the edge and onto the roof. Roman landed on his back with a thud, and as he tried to get up, he was pushed back down by the Batman's boot to his chest. "Where did you get the Venom, Sionis?"

The Black Mask groaned and sneered at the super-hero. "Fuck your mother," he hissed, and Batman kicked him hard in the face, creating a large crack on the front of Roman's mask.

"Let's try this again," Batman barked, pressing his boot against Roman's mask. "Where did you get the Venom?"

"Ungh…some guy…call's himself 'M'…wears a gray mask and yellow sweater…."

"I didn't ask for a description." Batman began putting more pressure on Roman's face, sending large cracks slithering up the skull-shaped object. "I asked for a NAME."

"I don't _know_ his name, dammit!" Mask screamed. "He only went by 'M'; never gave us a real name!"

"How did you meet him?"

"Some guy dressed like a commando introduced me to him."

Batman paused and narrowed his eyes, easing the pressure off Roman's face. "Commando?" he repeated curiously. "What commando?"

"Guy in combat gear and a ski mask. Goggles, too. Calls himself 'Ebony'."

"How do you get in touch with him?"

"I don't…_he_ gets in touch with _me_."

"I want you to tell me EVERYTHING you know about this 'Ebony,' understand?"

"He's some kinda martial arts master or somethin'. Might even be better than _you_. Says he took on Ghul all by himself."

"'Ghul'?" Helga stepped forward. "As in 'Ra's Al Ghul'?"

"You know any other Ghuls?"

"This guy, Ebony…he says he took down Ra's Al Ghul?"

"He says he infiltrated his fortress in San Lorenzo."

Helga's blue eyes widened, and she looked to Batman. "That's the guy!" she shouted anxiously. "That's the guy who killed Arnold's parents!"

Batman scowled and reached down to lift Sionis off the floor. "You're going to take me to him, Sionis."

Mask chuckled dryly. "Wish I could, but he's broken off communication with me. I figured out he was gonna send me up the river, and he told me he was gonna quit keeping you in the dark about my operations."

"That explains why I went on that wild goose chase with every one of your boys I interrogated. What about this 'M'?"

Mask thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, he's probably gonna come after me, anyway. I could set somethin' up for ya. Have him meet us somewhere and spring a trap."

"YOU'RE," Batman growled, pulling Sionis closer, "going back to _Arkham_. Just as soon as you set up an appointment with me and this 'M' character."

"Fine…," Mask groaned.

The Dark Knight slapped a pair of handcuffs on him. Then he pressed his index and middle fingers to his temple and spoke. "Jim, this is Batman. I need pick-up at the Warehouse District…Warehouse 65. Yes. Thanks, Jim." Batman cut the feed to his transmission with Commissioner Gordon and turned back towards Helga. "The police will be here in a few minutes. You have two options: go with them or go with me."

"I'll go with you," Helga answered without hesitation.

"Fine," Batman responded, and he turned and walked off the edge of the roof, gliding down to the earth below.

Helga hopped down the fire escape and walked towards the Dark Knight, gasping as she caught sight of the large, powerful vehicle known as "The Batmobile". "Holy shit…," she gasped as the top of the vehicle slid back, revealing the driver and passenger seat. Batman jumped in, and Helga did the same. The hood slid back into place, and the engine roared to life and sped down the street. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Gotham City Airport."

"What's at the airport?" the blonde teenager asked curiously.

"Your plane."


	9. Brought Together

Beta's note: It isn't Eddie's fault that this has been delayed. I've had the flu and other issues, so blame me instead of him. Trust me, you'll love the dialogue in this chapter as much as I did.

**MAJOR EDIT: **Gmail goofed originally in sending me this chapter, and it ate the last half. I finally have the last half for you and apologize profusely! Please read what you missed!

* * *

Edward Nigma sat face-down on his desk, his clothes ruffled and his face unshaven with a five o'clock shadow. He looked at the nearly empty bottle of Tequila next to him and reached toward it, sighing heavily. Tilting the bottle to the side, he lazily poured the liquid into his mouth and swallowed. Then he glanced over at the solid black briefcase that rested next to his coat-rack by the door. The case was filled with fifty-million dollars in crisp one-hundred dollar bills. It was his reward for deceiving a teenage girl whom he now couldn't get out of his mind.

The case had not even been opened.

There was a knock at the door. "Go away!" he slurred, not wanting to speak to anyone at the moment.

"Pizza-man!" the voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Edward snorted, slowly got up from his chair - never losing his grip on the bottle of alcohol, and stumbled towards the door. Pulling it open, he took another swig of his booze before eyeing the pizza delivery boy warily. The guy was wearing a blue shirt, white pants, and a red baseball cap. Held out before him was a large pizza box. "I din't or-der any peet-za…." he stuttered.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk!" The pizza boy shook his head. "You're not making this any fun for me, Eddie."

Nigma snorted and walked back inside, taking yet another swig of Tequila. "I'm not here to entertain you, Joker."

The Clown Prince of Chaos giggled at the sound of his name and threw off his baseball cap dramatically before entering Edward Nigma's home. He looked around, grinning. "Nice place ya got here, Eddie," he announced. "Gotta admit, though...how you were able to afford a place like this leaves me _riddled_ with _questions_, hehehehehe!"

"Ha, ha," Edward remarked dryly as he took a seat behind his desk. "What can I do fer you?"

"Eddie, you look like Hell!" Joker pointed out, crawling across the solid oak desk towards the inebriated detective. "What's wrong, old buddy?" he cooed.

Edward snorted before taking a huge gulp from his Tequila bottle. "Jus livin' the dream…," he said, spreading his arms wide. He then pulled out a shot glass and offered it to his grinning guest. "Drink?"

Joker took it and placed it down on the table. Edward offered him the bottle, but the clown pushed it away gently. "No thanks," he said, reaching into his pizza bag and pulling out a spray-bottle of ginger ale. "I've got my own." He sprayed the liquid into the little shot glass, causing ginger ale to go everywhere and blast out of the glass. Then he picked up the wet shot glass and downed the little bit of liquid that was able to remain in the container. "Ahhh!" he gasped happily. "Now _that's_ the stuff." He giggled and tossed the glass over his shoulder, smashing it against a nearby armoire.

"I know you, Joker," Edward mumbled after belching. "You din't come here jus ta chat…whaddya want?"

"I just dropped by to make sure your part in the 'incident' in San Lorenzo didn't reach the wrong ears." Joker then reached over and ruffled Nigma's hair. "After all, we can't have ole' Guano-Man dropping the curtain on our little play just yet, can we?"

"Nope," Edward confirmed, leaning back to take another chug of his booze. Joker reached over and snatched the bottle from his hand, tossing it over his shoulder.

"You shouldn't drink, Eddie," Joker informed, waggling a finger in the other man's face. "I once knew a lady who hit the blender too much, and it didn't turn out too well for _her_."

"Blender?" Edward repeated, confused.

The Joker leaned back away from the drunken detective, smiling mischievously. He continued to smile and stare at Nigma for a long while before motioning to the briefcase on the floor. "That your fifty-mil?" Edward leaned back in his chair, sighed, and dragged a weary hand across his grizzled face. He proceeded to nod slowly, and Joker let out a long whistle. "That's a lot of cash, Eddie," the clown remarked in a low, serious voice. "Man can buy himself a LOT of question mark suits with _that_ kinda dough."

Edward merely nodded slowly again and stared at the briefcase with utter disinterest.

"You haven't opened it yet, have you?"

Edward shook his head.

"You don't intend on opening it, do you?"

Edward shook his head again.

"Hm…," Joker mused, nodding his head slightly and staring blankly into space; that famous grin still on his face. There was a long silence. Then suddenly, Joker slapped his knees and exclaimed, "Welp, I'd love to stay and chat, Eddie, but I gotta boogie!" He hopped off Edward's desk and headed towards the door, picking up his baseball cap as he left. "Enjoy the show!" he chuckled darkly as he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Edward Nigma sighed and dropped his forehead back to the desk.

He wept for the rest of the night.

* * *

Rip Hunter examined the photographs carefully, flipping through each one and studying every detail he could find. The photos depicted the grizzly murders of different versions of Arnold Shortman. Alternate versions of the same person, each from a different Earth, and they had all been killed by, from what he was hearing, the same person.

"I'm not sure who's doing this," Rip's visitor, the one who had shown him these photos, said, "but whoever he is, he clearly has a grudge against Arnold Shortman."

"Obviously," Rip muttered, studying a picture of one version of Arnold with his chest ripped open and his heart lying next to him.

"Check out the writing on the wall in that picture."

Rip looked closely at the image, noticing letters written in blood on the wall in the background.

Make It Right

"Make it right?" Rip spoke the words curiously. "What does _that_ mean?"

The visitor - wearing glorious, golden, futuristic armor complete with visored helmet - merely shrugged. "That's what I've been trying to find out."

Rip nodded, now looking at a picture of a thirteen-year-old version of Arnold who appeared to have been drowned. "This is a sick man we're dealing with," he spoke in disgust.

"I know," the golden visitor agreed, "and I don't want it happening to _this_ world's Arnold."

"We have to warn him," Rip spoke urgently, flipping through more photographs and cringing in horror.

"Perhaps we can do _more_ than that," the gold visitor mused.

"Like what?"

"This world's Arnold is…different from the others, isn't he?"

"Yes, that's true," Rip nodded in agreement. "From what I have heard, this one has come into contact with the Phantom Stranger."

"Then perhaps he is the one who can bring this killer to justice."

Rip paused for a moment, then turned his attention towards the golden guest. "What are you suggesting," he asked curiously.

"I think we should tell him. Everything. Let him try to help us unravel this mystery."

"And if he's _not_ the one?"

The gold-armored man stared at the time traveler for a moment. "Then we have already failed."

* * *

"What do you mean, 'my plane'?" Helga asked in confusion. "Are we going somewhere or something?"

"_I'm_ not," Batman answered plainly. "_You_ are."

"Where?" Helga asked, her agitation building.

"Back to Hillwood where you belong."

"I'm not _going_ back to Hillwood," Helga growled through gritted teeth.

"Yes you _are_," Batman retorted. "I've got a first-class ticket for the next flight to Washington. From there, you'll be taking a limousine which will take you straight home. The driver's been instructed not to make any side stops, so go to the bathroom on the plane."

"There's nothing _left_ for me in Hillwood," Helga shot back.

"What about your parents?"

"My dad's an abusive uncaring prick, and my mom's an alcoholic who barely knows where the hell she is most of the time."

"What about friends?"

"I've only ever had one friend, but she's been spending a lot of time with her boyfriend, lately. She doesn't have time for me anymore."

"A friend is a friend no matter what," Batman replied. "She still cares about you."

"Maybe that's true," Helga remarked, "but you just don't understand." The young woman sighed, trying to find the words to express her feelings. "Without Arnold…," she began, then sighed again, "I can't function without him. I've been loving that boy for as long as I can remember…I couldn't imagine life without him."

The Batman was silent for a moment, his thoughts drifting back to the memories of a woman _he_ once loved. It was before he had donned the cowl of the Batman…before he became the night. She had been something he hadn't expected. She was his happiness. Bruce Wayne had asked her to marry him, and she had said yes; it had been the single happiest moment of his life.

However sadly, it was short-lived.

She broke up with him in a Dear John letter, but she had never quite explained why. Bruce wouldn't find out until years later when he was investigating the murders of various crime bosses in Gotham City. It was at this time that she had miraculously re-appeared in his life, but the Batman was no fool. He knew right away that there was a connection to her recent appearance and these mysterious killings. He had discovered that her father had been hustled by the mob and driven out of the country along with his daughter. This lead the Dark Knight to suspect that her father might be the killer.

Then he learned the truth.

The woman he loved; her father had been died at the hands of the mob years ago.

Now she had returned to take her revenge.

Batman was able to subdue her during a confrontation between her and the Joker, only to fail in convincing her to return to a normal life.

That was the last time he would ever see Andrea Beaumont.

"I know what it's like to have someone you love slip through your fingers," said the Batman, "but you have to put things in the past and keep moving forward."

"That's easy for YOU to say!" Helga cried angrily. "You changed who you were, who you used to be. The man your lady fell in love with doesn't exist anymore, does he?"

Batman clenched the steering wheel tightly. "Shut up," he growled. "You're just a stupid brat who could _never_ understand what I've been through. A brat who's using her pain as an excuse to escape her past. _I _do what I do because I _have_ to. Not because I _want_ to."

"You don't know SHIT about me!" Helga screamed, thrusting a finger in Batman's chest. "You have NO idea how bad it fucking hurt when he left! NO idea how much it killed me to watch him walk out of that goddamn city! After all I went through, all I did to try to see him again, he slaps me in the face - LITERALLY! So don't sit there and act like you _know_ what I've been through, because in reality, you're just an ignorant PRICK who thinks he's better than everyone else!"

Batman hit the brakes hard and jerked the wheel to the left, slamming Helga against the side of the car as the vehicle came to a complete stop. The Dark Knight then leaned over, bringing his face inches away from the now frightened young woman's. "Do you want to DIE, Pataki?" he roared, and Helga, shrinking back against the side of the vehicle, merely shook her head. "Well, that's EXACTLY what's going to happen if you stay here in Gotham City." The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes and leaned in a little bit closer. "And that's if you're lucky." He pointed behind Helga, and the young woman turned her head to look out the side window. In the distance was an island littered with searchlights, high walls, and Victorian-era buildings.

"What…," Helga stammered, "what is it that?"

"Arkham Asylum. It's where you'll end up if you don't get killed first, and trust me…once you set foot on that island, there's no turning back."

Helga just stared at the insane asylum for a little while, mesmerized by the buildings. It was like the island was calling to her, and Helga found it rather…intriguing. She wanted to study the island more carefully. Walk through its hallways, examine its many rooms and facilities, maybe even visit a few of the inmates. She shook her head. What the hell was she _thinking_?

"I'm not going to that place," Helga spoke confidently.

"That's what they _all _say," Batman replied, restarting the vehicle and speeding off down the road.

* * *

_Arnold Shortman, age 13, looked over at Helga Pataki; seeing the girl blushing and looking away from him made the blonde boy smile even more. "What's wrong, Helga?" he asked playfully. "You don't want to go to the festival with me?"_

_Helga snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not _that_, Arnoldo. I just think…maybe it's a little too soon to be doing something so…public, y'know?"_

_He__ tilted his head curiously. "Are you still so shy about us being seen together?"_

_She nodded slowly, her face getting redder._

_A sad look came over the boy's face, and he looked down at his hands. "Helga…," he began, "are you…are you ashamed of me?"_

_Helga just stared at the little boy for a moment, then rolled off her bed in a fit of laughter._

"_Helga, I'm _serious_!" a frustrated __Arnold__ cried._

_She got up and gave the boy a dreamy gaze. "Oh, __Arnold__," she sighed girlishly, running her fingers through the boy's golden hair. "You're too cute."_

_He chuckled sheepishly, now blushing brightly himself. "If you really don't want to go, though, we don't have to."_

_She just smiled at her beloved, daydreaming about their future together._

"_Helga…?"_

"_Mmm," Helga giggled and wrapped her arms around the football-headed boy, pulling him down on the bed with her. "Oh…my golden-haired little love-god," she sighed dreamily as she kissed him feverishly. __Arnold__ chuckled in that innocent way he always did every time she did something like this. She rested her head on his chest as they lay in bed together. "I love you, Arnold," she whispered._

"_I love you too, Helga," the little girl's beloved boyfriend responded, and he kissed her forehead gently. Helga began trembling a little, and Arnold, suddenly concerned, looked down at her. "What's wrong, Helga?" The little girl looked up at him with those bright, cerulean eyes, and tears slid down her cheeks. __N__ow even _more_ concerned, he cupped her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asked again._

"_Oh, __Arnold__…," she whispered, her voice filled with sorrow. "I don't deserve your love. Not after how badly I treated you when we were younger."_

"_You mean the bullying?" __he__ asked, and she nodded slowly. "I don't care about that," he said, stroking the girl's cheek affectionately. "You were only doing it because you were having trouble with your feelings towards me."_

"_Arnold__…you don't understand…." She looked away sadly. "I've never _been_ happy before, __Arnold__. This…this is all so new to me. When we first started dating…it was easy. I didn't expect us to be together for so long. I set myself up for failure, but now…the weeks have turned into months…months into years…and I just don't understand why you would still want to be with me."_

_Arnold__ just stared at her, eyes wide in wonderment of this amazing little girl who cared so much about him. He smiled warmly and took her hand in his, placing it against his lips and kissing her palm softly. "I love you, Helga. That's why I want to be with you."_

"_I know," she sighed, pulling her hand away from him, "but _why_ do you love me? What's so great about _me_? I mean c'mon, let's face it, Football-Head - I'm not the hottest girl on the block."_

"_I think you're attractive," he said slowly, not quite knowing where she was going with this._

"_Yeah, thanks," the girl replied glumly, getting up off her bed and heading towards the door. She opened it and looked down at the floor. "I need a little time to think, __Arnold__."_

_He got up from Helga's bed, a confused look on his face. "You want me to go?"_

"_I'm sorry, __Arnold__," she replied sadly. "This is all…just so confusing right now. I just need a little time alone, okay?"_

_Arnold__ shook his head in frustration and stormed out of the room. "Do whatever you want, Helga." The blonde boy walked out of the Pataki household, sighing in agitation, and headed back to the boarding house._

'_What's wrong with her?' he thought. 'Why does she have to act like this all of the time? Why can't she just see that I love her? What more does she need?' A very confused and frustrated __Arnold__ Shortman walked back to the Sunset Arms and back up to his room, trying his best to unravel the mystery of Helga G. Pataki."_

Arnold Shortman awoke from his dream and sat up in his bed. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed, not quite sure of what to make of the dream he had just had about his past.

"_Your dreams are important, __Arnold__._"

"Huh?" Arnold turned towards the familiar voice and heard the sound of a match being struck somewhere in the darkness. A small flame appeared and illuminated the area in which the Phantom Stranger was sitting. "YOU!" he gasped, throwing off his blanket and steeping down from his bed.

"_Yes, 'me'," _ the Stranger confirmed, taking a puff of his cigarette.

"What do you want?" Arnold questioned, highly puzzled.

"_There is a dangerous being who has been assassinating different versions of you throughout the Infinite Earths._"

"What?" Arnold asked in confusion.

"_Very soon you will be approached by two men. They will give you the opportunity to investigate these murders. You…must not accept their offer._"

"HUH?" Arnold's jaw dropped. "What...why?"

"_You must leave this place, __Arnold__…you must return to Hillwood and live out the remainder of your years there."_

"Wha-WHAT?" Arnold cried. "But I thought I was supposed to be special or something…?" He lowered his head and sighed. "I guess I was wrong."

The Phantom Stranger took another drag of his cigarette. "_Indeed._"

Arnold looked up at him angrily. "But was all of that talk about 'disaster,' and 'fate,' and 'choices…'? Did it mean anything or was it all bullshit?"

The Stranger exhaled a large plume of smoke and stared at the young man for a moment. "_I was not lying to you when I said that the choices you make will eventually determine the future of the world…but…._" He took another drag of his smoke. "_I am not convinced that you will make the right decision. Therefore, you must be removed from said choice in order to save this world._"

"I'm not leaving without Helga."

"_You must forget her. She is inconsequential._"

"But _you_ said that she matters."

"_I also said that your association with her always ends in disaster._"

Arnold started to say something, but stopped and looked down at the floor in frustration. Why did things become so damn complicated whenever Helga Pataki was involved? He had to tell her, though. Tell her that he was sorry and that he loved her no matter what.

Still….

If she hadn't come to San Lorenzo in the first place, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have to be here, in Gotham, at all in order to look for her. He didn't want to blame Helga for what had happened to his parents, but perhaps, things might have gone differently had she not have showed up. After all, without her as a bargaining chip, how could Ra's Al Ghul have hoped to sway Arnold into joining him? By threatening his parents? They already worked for him, didn't they? So why would he eliminate two specialists who were, no doubt, extremely valuable...over someone like Arnold? It wouldn't make any sense. But Helga, on the other hand, was expendable to him. He could use her without even batting an eyelash, and Arnold would have no choice but to bend to the terrorist's will. He sighed.

"Maybe you're right," Arnold said glumly.

The Phantom stranger blew out another puff of smoke and stared at the disappointed teenager. "_I'm sorry, __Arnold__._"

The green-eyed blonde nodded slightly, and when he looked up, his mysterious visitor was nowhere to be seen. The boy sighed again and shook his head. He switched the light on in his room and went to his closet for a fresh change of clothes. After dressing, he pulled out a sheet of paper from the printer and found himself a pen. He sat down at the kitchen counter and got to writing:

_Robin,_

_If you are reading this, then I've already left. I was paid another visit by the Phantom Stranger tonight, and he informed me that it would be best if I just went home. I tried arguing with him, but the more I did, the more I realized that maybe it IS the best thing to do. Even if I do find Helga in this massive city, I have no idea what I would say to her or how I would tell her how I feel. Besides, I'm sure she's much happier here. I don't want to interfere with her life anymore. She's been through so much. Who am I to try to take her back to that life of misery she obviously needed to get away from? She deserves the chance to be happy. I'm not about to take that away from her. You've helped me so much, man, and I don't want to waste any more of your time. There are people out there who need you, Robin. You need to get back to doing what you do best and not worrying about me. I'll be fine. Thank you for your friendship. I'll never forget it._

_Sincerely,_

_Arnold__ P. Shortman_

Arnold proofread his letter, and satisfied with what he had written, folded it over and left it on the counter for Robin to find in the morning. The teenage blonde went back into his room and packed up his belongings. When he came to his Phantasm costume, he paused for a moment, staring at the black suit, gray cloak, and silvery mask. He snatched up the costume and stuffed it in his bag, not knowing why. He just had a feeling in the back of his mind that it might come in handy. With a determined yet heavy sigh, he walked out the door, closing it shut behind him, and then headed out to the street to whistle for a cab.

"TAXI!" he hollered, and one of the yellow vehicles pulled up next to him. Arnold went around to the trunk, and the driver pulled a switch to pop it, allowing the blonde boy to place his bags inside. He slammed the trunk shut and walked back around to the side of the vehicle, climbing into the back seat.

"Where to?" the driver asked, adjusting his mirror to look his customer in the eye.

Arnold sighed one last time and glanced back towards Robin's loft.

"Airport."

* * *

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Jonathan Crane shouted as he slammed the phone back on the receiver. It had already been two days, and his good-for-nothing apprentice had yet to get in touch with him about those memoirs.

"If that little bitch decided to keep them…," he fumed. Crane turned around and headed back to his cell all on his own. Crane's former guard, Martin Warwick, had died in an unfortunate "accident" involving the wood-chipper in the shop room. Since then, Larry Reynolds had taken over his shift until Warden Sharp could find a suitable replacement. Larry wasn't like Warwick. While Martin had been a guard for years, Reynolds was relatively new and still believed that salvation could be found with the inhabitants of the asylum.

Salvation.

As if there existed such a thing.

The truth was that Jonathan Crane was not insane, and he knew it. Jonathan murdered, stole, and drove people insane because he _wanted_ to. Because he had to pursue his thirst for knowledge for the benefit of all mankind. That was the sane thing to do.

Wasn't it?

Jonathan Crane shrugged the thought away and whistled back to his cell, stopping to wave at the Joker as he passed by the clown's own cell.

"Crane…."

The lanky psychiatrist turned his attention towards the voice addressing him. Before him stood a figure in a red hoodie and trench coat.

"Ah…my mysterious visitor. You'll be disappointed to know that my apprentice has yet to contact me regarding those memoirs you requested."

The hooded being stood there for a moment, and Crane immediately sensed that, whoever this person was, they were struggling with some sort of inner conflict. "I need those memoirs," the figure stated.

Crane nodded his head knowingly. "Yes, I am aware of that."

"Then get it done if you want what was promised to you."

"I'll see to it that I get those memoirs, trust me," Crane assured. "But first, I wouldn't mind knowing the identity of my enigmatic employer."

The hooded person was silent again, engaged once more in some kind of internal struggle.

"If you'd like, I could help with your…little problem."

"What problem?"

There was a short silence, and Crane raised an eyebrow. "Nothing."

The mysterious visitor muttered something under his/her breath and turned to walk away. "Just get me those memoirs," he/she added before leaving. The visitor walked into the darkness and vanished.

Crane narrowed his eyes. The good doctor had never been one for mysteries; he preferred cold hard facts, so the idea of working for someone so enigmatic did not sit well with him. He had to find out the identity of this hooded being in order to be at ease.

"Dr. Crane?"

Jonathan turned towards the voice addressing him to see Larry Reynolds heading towards him.

"What are you doing? You know you're not supposed to be out of your cell."

Crane pushed up his glasses and smiled. "I was just heading back to my cell, Mr. Reynolds. No worries."

"Oh well, move along now. We can't have patients walking the hallways after hours, you know."

"Would it be at all possible for me to make another phone call?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Crane, but you know the rules: one call a week unless someone calls _you_."

Crane didn't have a week. He needed to know the mystery behind his employer's identity. After all, how was Crane supposed to black-mail them without knowing who they are? "May I ask you to do me a quick favor, Larry?"

The young security guard fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. "Well…I guess I could. As long as it's with the rules and all."

"It is, trust me."

"Well, alright then. What do you need?"

"Tell Warren White that the Scarecrow needs to speak to him, and that he is in need of a professional."

* * *

The Batmobile pulled up in an alley not far away from the airport, and the Dark Knight shut off the vehicle's powerful engine.

"I'm _not_ getting on that plane," Helga replied for the umpteenth time.

Batman ignored the young woman's argument and opened a compartment in the car. From there, he pulled out a black disguise kit and opened it to reveal false noses, beards, mustaches, facial scars, spirit gum, and various other objects used to create the perfect disguise. He took one of the larger blond beards and pasted it to his face, then pulled back his cowl to reveal thinning blond hair, green eyes (courtesy of a pair of contact lenses), and a gruesome fake scar running down his cheek. He added to the disguise with a pair of slightly yellowed, crooked false teeth that he slipped over his real ones.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm going to make sure you get on that plane." He tapped a button on his utility belt that retracted his cape and slipped on a shirt, jacket, and other articles of regular clothing.

"You're going in _with_ me?" she asked in astonishment.

"Yes."

"I am NOT fucking going."

He leaned in close. "Yes. You. ARE." He flipped a switch near the steering wheel, and the roof of the car slid open. Now in full disguise, he hopped out of the vehicle and motioned for Helga to do the same.

"I can't go in my costume, genius," she grumbled.

"I took the liberty of packing you some clothes. They're in the trunk."

"You expect me to get _dressed_ in front of you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not leaving the damn car, you pervert," she stated plainly, frowning and crossing her arms over her chest.

"This vehicle has an ejector seat," Batman informed. She tilted her head back and sighed, then reluctantly jumped out of the car. The Dark Knight popped open the trunk and pointed inside. "Get your things, and let's go."

The girl gave him an angry look and grabbed a pink shirt and a pair of jeans from the trunk. "Can I have a _little_ bit of privacy at least?" she asked, motioning with a twirl of her finger for him to turn around. Batman narrowed his eyes and did as she asked. She slipped off her Scarecrow costume as fast as she could, then slid into her t-shirt and jeans. Checking to make sure the older man still had his back turned, she slowly walked away from the vehicle and towards a nearby fire escape. She turned and began to climb it when she felt something wrap around her leg. Before she could protest, she was pulled to the ground and dragged back to the car; one of Batman's grapnel lines wrapped securely around her ankle. "Dammit," she muttered under her breath and turned over, pulling her ankle out of the grapnel loop.

"Try that again," he produced a small dart gun from the sleeve of his jacket, "and you'll wake up on that plane with a splitting headache."

Helga growled and reached back into the trunk of the Batmobile for the small bag of clothes Batman had packed for her. While he wasn't looking, she unzipped it and shoved her Scarecrow costume inside, quickly zipping the bag up and slinging it over her shoulder.

"Let's get going," he said, pulling out a plane ticket from a pouch on his belt. "This is your ticket; seat three, row four. Your flight leaves in about a half hour, so if you have to eat, do it quickly."

"Whatever," she mumbled, walking past the Dark Knight.

"Also," he added, pulling out a small black device with a radar screen on the front of it, "you've been fitted with a homing beacon. I'll know where you are at all times, so don't even think of trying to escape."

She glared at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll be back, you know…."

"I'll be waiting. Now let's get going."

* * *

The cab pulled up by the airport, and Arnold reached into his pocket for his fare money. "Thank you very much," he said as he handed the driver his cash.

"Keep it," the driver insisted, and Arnold gave him a puzzled expression.

"Oookaaay…thanks, then."

The teenager got out of the cab, closing the door behind him, and gathered up his bags. He shut the trunk and waved back at the driver, who merely stared at him. Arnold just scratched his head and shrugged, then headed into the busy airport. He looked around and let out a long sigh, still not fully convinced that leaving Gotham was something he wanted to do.

But it was something he _had_ to do. For Helga.

He walked over to the nearest ticket desk and set down his bags.

"May I help you?" a woman with red hair and brown eyes asked with a smile.

"Yeah, I need a ticket to Hillwood, Washington, please."

"Alright, then," the woman said, typing on a nearby keyboard and studying her computer monitor. "You're in luck. There's one leaving in half an hour."

"That's good." He nodded, and after paying for his ticket, the woman handed him the piece of paper that would send him home.

"Seat two, row four," she informed him as she handed him the ticket. Arnold nodded at her and turned to head towards the waiting area.

He sat down and sighed wearily, lowering his head and running his fingers through his golden-blonde hair. Was this really the right thing to do? After all, the chances of him even running into Helga again _had_ to be ridiculously high in such a populated city. He wanted so badly to find the man responsible for the death of his beloved parents, the mysterious Ebony. However, finding that one may prove even harder than locating Helga. He knew next to nothing about this man, only that he went by the name "Ebony." Plus, even if he _did_ somehow find Ebony...what then? He had no hope of defeating a trained assassin in combat; he'd just get his ass kicked. Better to just leave it to the professionals.

Feeling nature's call, he got up from his seat and headed towards the bathroom.

* * *

"Do whatever you need to do before you get on that plane," the disguised Dark Knight told Helga as they entered the busy airport. "And remember, I'll be watching."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the blonde girl grouched as she shoved her way through the crowd. "Make way, I'm walkin' here!" she shouted as she marched towards the bathroom, receiving several agitated looks for her rudeness.

The teenager made it to her destination when she noticed that one of the laces of her boots was untied. She crouched down to tie her boot as someone brushed past her.

"'Scuse me," the person said absently.

Helga retorted with an "Mm-hm;" not really paying attention, herself. Suddenly, she looked up just to see the bathroom door close. There was something familiar about that voice... 'Oh well,' she thought as she walked into the ladies' room.

* * *

On his way to the bathroom, Arnold didn't notice a young woman leaning down to tie her shoe.

"'Scuse me," he said to her distractedly.

She replied back with an uninterested "Mm-hm."

Arnold stepped into the bathroom then, but upon swearing that the girl looked familiar, he stuck his head out the door; she was gone. He shrugged and reentered the bathroom. After finishing up his business, the teen washed his hands and ventured out of the men's room. He heard a low rumble coming from his stomach. Realizing that he hadn't eaten all day, the young man decided to head over to the airport's café for some grub. He sat down at a nearby booth and picked up the menu.

* * *

The cab Arnold Shortman had walked away from just sat exactly where it was when the teenager left; the driver still staring back at him through the windows of the airport. He glanced over when seeing a security guard (the name "Lewis" emblazoned on his name tag) tap on his window with a flashlight.

"Hey, sir," he said, "you gotta move this thing."

The driver made a gesture like he couldn't hear, and the guard motioned for him to roll his window down. After doing so, the guard leaned in and repeated himself. "Sir, you gott-ACK!'

He was cut off as a sleek, shiny blade went through his bottom jaw and up into his brain, killing him instantly. The driver pulled him through the window, threw the body in the back, and pulled off into a nearby alley.

* * *

After finishing her business, Helga walked out of the bathroom and looked around at the airport. She eyed the busy citizens of Gotham as they hurried along the building's floor, trying to catch their planes, grabbing their luggage, or trying to alert their loved ones that their flight was leaving. The blonde girl just shook her head and chuckled helplessly.

"Are you ready?" the disguised Batman said from behind her.

She merely sighed in annoyance. "I'd like to get something to eat first, if that's alright with you."

"Make it quick."

She rolled her eyes and headed towards the airport café. She unknowingly sat in the booth right behind Arnold Shortman's and viewed the menu. She also pulled out her pink iWood and popped in her ear buds just as Arnold made his order.

"Yeah," he began, "I'll have the chicken club with curly fries. No tomato. Oh, and a Sprite for the drink, please."

A young waitress with short, brown hair approached Helga, and the teen, still listening to her music, pointed at what she wanted on the menu: a bacon double cheeseburger and a large chocolate shake. The waitress wrote down her order, nodded, and walked away.

After a few minutes, Arnold got his order and rubbed his hands together anxiously as he looked at the meal before him.

Behind him, Helga bobbed her head to the loud rock music filling her ears and twirled a fork between her fingers absent-mindedly.

Arnold looked around on his table for a bottle of ketchup, but after not finding any, turned around to the booth behind him to ask its occupant if they had any ketchup just in time for Helga to accidentally drop her fork and bend down under the table to pick it up. Not seeing anyone residing at the booth but seeing a ketchup bottle on the table, he shrugged and leaned forward to grab the bottle; returning to his seat just as Helga sat back up, holding the fork she had just dropped.

Soon afterward, Helga was brought her cheeseburger and shake. The young woman woofed down her burger and chugged her milkshake. She wasn't trying to impress anybody, and besides, she didn't have time sit and enjoy her meal.

She had to get away from the Batman.

But what could she do? He told her he had planted a tracer her! Well, she didn't remember Batman touching her. Not even to hit her. That left her change of clothes. It was highly probable that he'd slipped a tracer into the folds of her clothing before she even put them on, so she'd have to get them off.

Maybe in the bathroom? No, that would arouse too much suspicion. She had already been to bathroom fifteen minutes ago, and Batman might catch onto her if she went too many times over such a short period. Still…she had to think of something.

Remembering all the times at school where she had sneaked into a supply closet in order to monologue about Arnold, the teenage girl decided to look for a storage room. She got up, looked around, and casually strolled out of the café.

* * *

Upon finishing his meal, Arnold wiped his face and sighed, leaning against a nearby wall and casually gazing at his surroundings.

"Hey!" He was brought out of his thoughts by the shouting of a young woman - his waitress, as she pointed towards the exit. "That girl never paid for her meal!" she cried angrily.

He turned to see the back of a blonde girl's head. "I got it," he groaned as he reached for his wallet and produced a ten dollar bill. "Will this cover it?" he asked in slight annoyance.

"Yep!" the waitress chirped, snatching the money from the football-headed boy's hand. "Tip?"

"Don't push it," he huffed and headed outside to search for the female thief who had just cost him ten bucks. He darted his head left, then right, and thought he saw the girl heading down a hallway several feet away. "You're not getting away from me," Arnold growled determinedly under his breath.

He bolted through the crowd that separated him from his quarry and ran down the hallway, coming to a dead halt upon realizing that the young thief had eluded him. Deciding not to give up just yet, Arnold quietly patrolled the hallway, eyeing the various doors and closets warily. He stared at one in particular and considered the possibility that his quarry might be inside. Upon hearing a loud crash from within, Arnold nodded confidently and reached towards the handle.

* * *

Helga Pataki wasn't stupid. She was well aware that somebody was following her, and that it had to be none other than the Dark Knight, himself. After hurrying out of the café, Helga entered a large crowd in an attempt to lose her pursuer. Upon exiting the crowd, Helga made her way into a long hallway flooded with various doors. She noticed that one door - a supply closet - was slightly ajar and quickly slipped inside, closing it behind her. She looked around for some kind of ventilation shaft and saw one in the upper right corner of the room.

"Perfect," she whispered as she climbed up a nearby rack of towels and reached for the vent. Her eyes went wide, and she felt herself hurtling to the ground as the shelf began to tip over. She shot out her free hand to brace herself against the wall in an attempt to prevent her crash, but her palm slipped against the surface, and she fell flat on her face with the towel shelf landing atop her. The teenager moaned weakly as she brought a hand to her aching cheek, then looked up just in time to see the door open.

* * *

Arnold placed his hand on the doorknob just as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see a tall security guard standing next to him.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?" the guard asked, a hint of aggravation in his voice.

"Uh," he muttered dumbly, still eyeing the door.

"Alright, kid, move along," the guard said, nudging the young man.

"There's somebody in here," he said to the guard. The older man looked at the door curiously and a wide grin appeared on his face. "I'll check it out, then. Thanks, kid. Run along now."

Arnold looked back at the door for a moment, then sighed and reluctantly did as he was told. "Sure thing, Mister," he glanced at the guard's nametag, "Lewis." The guard nodded, still grinning, and waved at the young man as the blonde-haired boy drifted back down the hallway.

"Lewis" then turned his attention back to the storage room door and gripped the handle firmly before swinging the door open to reveal Helga Pataki lying beneath a metal shelf and a pile of towels.

"Heh heh," she chuckled sheepishly. "Just...uh…looking for some towels. Heh."

The security guard maintained his mischievous grin as he walked into the closet and shut the door behind him.


	10. Torn Apart

Beta's Note: Hey guys, Azure129 here filling in as Beta on this chapter. Be prepared for tons of action, a fun plot twist or two, and of course more of the general goodness that is this story. Also, I'm happy to say that Edward Crane was nice enough to ask me to do one of the alternate earth stories for this chapter. The Earth 396 parts are based in the "Learning to be Helga" universe and were written by yours truly. Please review and enjoy, guys!

* * *

**Earth 396**

Arnold Shortman had already been at Helga G. Pataki's house for quite a little more time than he had expected to be this evening…But he knew he couldn't leave just yet. This shrine thing—him seeing it and accepting it—it was important to her. And he knew he needed to visit it now to show her just how serious he was about this new relationship of theirs. Besides…letting him see it WAS technically her present to him for their one-week anniversary. And how could he turn down such a lovely, trusting gift from the girl he loved? The girl whom he'd been brought together with through, romantically enough, poetry of all things (even if it _had_ just consisted of her having tutored him in writing a poem for class two weeks ago…Although, there was even something special in that. After all, that poem he had ended up writing from it all had been his first one about her.) Bottom line: it was a romantic thought and Arnold always had been a romantic deep down. And now he wanted to prove to Helga that he could love her artistic creations…her shrines…just as much as her writing.

So, shaking off his sentimental reflections and firmly resolving to help Helga with her 'showing him the shrine' crisis before the evening was out, Arnold smiled at the shy-looking girl before him, stepped forward, and moved the red shoe he had brought to give her as a preset to one of his hands. He used his other hand to gently take hold of one of hers. He then took a breath and spoke to her as sincerely as possible, which wasn't hard as everything he said was the truth. "Helga…"

She stared wide eyed at his hand holding hers and then looked up at him unsurely, feeling her heart pound a bit at his touch. He continued smiling. "I'm going to take this shoe," he lifted it up slightly, bringing attention to it, "And I'm going to go up into the attic and put it in the box like you said. Then I'm going to look at the shrine. And then I'm going to come back down here, and do you know what I'm going to do?"

She didn't say anything, but just slowly shook her head.

He laughed a little at the response. "I'm going to say 'Thank you, Helga' just like with every other time you've told me the truth about your feelings over the last week, and then I'm going to tell you Happy Anniversary again…and then talk to you about anything else we need to talk about…" Helga raised an eyebrow at this strange last addition to his sentence, but Arnold didn't elaborate, merely clearing his throat and continuing in the same supportive tone. "And then I'm going to go home and spend the rest of tonight and all day tomorrow looking forward to school on Monday when I'll get to see you again, even if it's not like it is when we're alone. Because I care about you Helga, and something that you made because you love me and you were lonely couldn't change that." He gave her a slightly skeptical look. "You know, I respect how you feel about all of this, Helga, but I really think you're making it all out to be a much bigger deal than it's actually going to be. You have to admit, you do have a tendency to get a little dramatic about things sometimes…" He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "I mean, it's kind of cute…" he saw the blush in her cheeks strengthen at his comment, and he felt the warmth already in his own face reciprocate the action. He glanced away from her, still smiling, "But sometimes I think it makes you worry about things way too much and kind of miss the big picture." He shrugged and took a breath, looking back up at her still wide eyes and still slightly rosy face. "I don't even care that much about seeing the closet shrine, to be honest, Helga—I know about it and I accept it and that's enough for me. But…" he let out a sigh and gently released Helga's hand, "If it'll make you feel better and convince you that this whole thing with us isn't just some balloon waiting to burst, I'll go see it." He winked at her. "Be right back, Helga."

And with that a still smiling Arnold left a very stunned looking Helga standing near her open closet door as he entered said lit-up closet and closed said door behind himself, his eyes quickly falling upon the chair she had described as he heard the click of the door closing firmly behind him…

Helga was okay for about a second.

And then she just couldn't handle being alone in her room under these circumstances anymore without absolutely losing it…

* * *

The door of the closet shutting behind him, Arnold approached the chair and could also see the pull-string to the attic door hanging just above it. With a smile and a breath (and feeling just a little nervous…after all he WAS about to see a life-size dedication that the girl of his dreams had made to him in a closet) he went forward, slowly climbed the chair and slowly opened the door to the small storage space above Helga's closet.

With a swallow and a smile (and his eyes shut tight, not wanting to ruin the 'surprise') Arnold climbed the ladder…broke through into the space of the 'attic'…and then let out his breath. Barely able to make out a warm light through his eyelids, he summed up his young courage and opened his eyes.

His jaw dropped.

He had to blink a couple of times as he got the rest of his body into the attic, automatically pulling the door shut behind him…leaving him locked tight inside. His eyes never left what they had first fallen upon.

Slowly, hesitantly, interestedly…he approached what must have been, well…this 'Arnold shrine' Helga had been going on and on about.

In truth, Arnold had to admit as he studied it, a hand to his chin…there was a certain Arnold-esque quality to it. It DID possess a Football Head at least…

"I don't know, maybe…maybe I was expecting too much… I mean, she's so creative and artistic with the poetry…I was almost thinking she'd have some elaborate sculpture up here or something…" He squinted at the large structure in front of him some more. "Still…I guess the head's a little sculpture-ish." He was about to reach forward and touch it—the large, football shaped section made out of glued or…or welded together glass bottles. Beautiful really. Just the kind of thing he would have expected Helga to make…But then he hesitated. Because…what was under the head…it was just…there was just something dark about it. And it worried him.

It looked almost like the body of the Arnold shrine was sitting down with its legs crossed…shrouded in a black trench coat…with some kind of green shirt or hoodie underneath. But the black coat…it caught in his mind. The material…not like black silk or a black suit or something, he couldn't help but note…just some kind of dark, worn, deep garment…

'_Rot.'_

He didn't know why that word suddenly popped into his head.

But then he knew…

Upon initially coming up here the faint smell of incense had met his nose…but now…getting closer…Something sour…unclean…bad…something… '_Rot'_. The word stuck again.

And suddenly Arnold became very aware of how quiet it was up here.

Quiet…no windows…attic door shut.

He wanted to leave this place.

Now.

And not just the attic.

He wanted to run out of here, grab Helga, leave this entire house, get her some help for whatever it was that had made someone so perfect and lovely make something like…like this…And then everything would be better. Yeah. All better.

He took a step back and practically jumped into the air as his foot touched against something glass. Turning around in surprise…he instantly let out a huge sigh of relief, seeing that he had just bumped into two empty soda bottles on the floor…two 'decorated' empty soda bottles on the floor. His eyes then studied them for a second and he couldn't help but smile. '_They…they look like me and Helga. Like she dressed them up like us._' On an impulse, he bent down and gently picked them up, a happy feeling coming back to him again. Now this was more along the lines of what he'd been expecting from her… "Wow, look at the detail." He chuckled to himself… He gently traced his finger over the cute dress of the Helga doll. "I didn't know she could sew like—"

There was that sound again of a glass being bumped into…

…but _behind_ Arnold, this time.

Arnold dropped the two bottles he was holding on the floor, causing them to shatter, and whipped around in fear.

Nothing had moved, nothing was diff—

The Arnold shrine…no longer had its head.

"Hey…Arnold."

Everything inside of him froze and exploded in fear. He tried to tell himself that this was…some silly prank Helga was playing…his imagination…maybe she'd just plain added a talking feature to the shrine! Something…anything…

But it sounded so horrible, that voice…so horrible. Nothing about Helga could be that horrible.

He managed to notice, in the glint against it created by the clear and blue strings of Christmas lights strung around the room, the head to the Arnold shrine, a few bottles snapped and broken from it, and laying on its side on the attic floor.

The body of the shrine shifted. And Arnold couldn't breathe anymore.

"Not a fan of the shrine, I see. Well, everyone's a critic…"

The shrine, the…person that was the shrine…stood up.

"Mmmm!" A whimper of fright escaped the poor ten-year-old boy. Stepping backward automatically, his foot instantly caught on the rounded base of one of the 'doll' bottles he'd allowed to break, and he fell back, his paralyzed green eyes never ever blinking or shifting or moving in any way… A larger shard of the glass had even managed to just pierce his jeans, sending a dark, thin imprint of blood through the fabric. It didn't process with him. It didn't matter. The fear numbed everything…And the fear fed off of the sight before him.

"This is too easy. A ten-year-old. Alone. In an attic. At night? Isn't this the boogeyman's jurisdiction? Hmph…he should be taking care of this shit…I've got 'bigger' fish to fry."

The figure let out a slow, thick, raspy breath…and then leaned down slightly over the terrified boy… The little boy trickling blood through his jeans…eyes looking like they'd never un-dilate again. "Hey…" It whispered…almost trying to sound sweet. Rot trying to sound sweet. "If you give me a little entertainment and squeal nice, I promise to make it quick. Since you're just a stupid kid."

The pure adrenaline coursing through Arnold's body competing against his frozen paralysis had been making Arnold sick inside…and this 'request now' made it worse…made him wish for anything but nothing to be happening right now…Because it was all unbearable.

"Aw, you're gonna be all noble about this?" The figure stopped leaning over. "Okay. I've had a special plan in mind for this one anyway…and I'd just hate to see it wasted…" It turned and took two steps back, picked up the Arnold shrine glass bottle head, felt the weight for a moment, and then took the two steps back over to Arnold, who now had tears streaming down from his eyes…though he didn't even realize it. The fear was just…there was nothing else but that.

"Well, I must thank you for one thing…" The figure lifted up the item in question and seemed to look at it for a moment… "…having a head that just screams 'use something shaped like me to inflict blunt force trauma'." The figure paused. It's gaze turned to the little ten-year-old boy…who had taken to gripping the only thing around him…the shattered glass doll bottle pieces…in his hands. Blood ran, sticky and thin, in little rivulets down and over his knuckles. "Goodnight Arnold. And don't say I didn't offer you the chance to squeal your way out of a slow death."

The glass head, held vertically, came down with a hideous thump against the cranium of the one whose likeness had inspired it. "AA—" This strange, sad…this squeak came out of Arnold's mouth, but that was all. He wasn't dead, he was just…He'd been hit, he'd been hurt…He couldn't even feel the pain he knew should be there though. Just the fear. Lights danced before his eyes.

"Heh. That was just to shut you up, actually. Keep you from struggling. I've been getting a little sick of cleaning gore off myself actually, so if you don't mind…I've got something different in mind for you…Something special."

The figure then roughly grabbed the ten-year-old boy by one of his ankles and dragged him across the small attic space…across the broken glass, lit incense burners, scattered poetry books. Varying bloodlines came from his small form…a larger one from the head, smaller ones from the knuckles, that little one from his leg…new ones from new cuts and scrapes he received in the moving…

And then he was upright. Being held upright…standing on something…a box or something.

"HELGA!" It was supposed to come out as a scream. It only came out as a whisper. But he…something about the shift up had sent the blood away from his head or to his head…whatever. It had imbalanced the fear, just for an instant. It…Helga…she had to get out of here! Someone was in the house up here and he had to get her out before—

"Still talking…? I'll fix that…" A chuckle grumbled out of the person…and then the lighting in the room got all funny and dimmer…and Arnold felt something come around him…around his neck.

"Nothing beats the classics… I feel like there's a 'Merry Christmas' joke in here considering the lights but…I don't have the time. Not to waste on a ten-year-old, at least."

Arnold felt his throat suck in as something came around it. Hard! It was so tight! And then the sharp feeling of the tightening actually broke a full crack in the fear…and he could feel it all and see it all and take it all in! "N—" He couldn't speak. It was too tight…He could barely breathe. But now he was suddenly aware of everything!

He wriggled, struggled, tried to move! The cut on his head…stung though…made things woozy, hazy…and that rot…the smell, feel, touch of it…Now _it _was everywhere instead of the fear. And it was almost just as hard to break from.

"Oh, struggling now, are we?" The sound of the string of Christmas tree lights being pulled tight over the rafter up above, as well as the fact that it took away his last piece of breath, arrested Arnold's movements. "Allow me to take care of that in three, two… Any last words? Quick, before the boogeyman comes and gets pissed at me for operating on his turf!"

The tears were there again…And then, impossible as it was, Arnold fought for a breath. "Helg—" He scrambled forward. She was the only thing! He didn't know why, but she was the only thing! He needed to get to her right n—

"God, I am sick of this sappy crap!" The sound of the cords of lights being pulled back even tighter sounded in the attic space. Arnold stopped moving again.

"Goodnight, lover boy. Heh…elementary school relationships—they never last, do they?"

The figured kicked out the box full of poetry books from under the boy's feet.

The string of lights, tied expertly over he rafter and around they boy's neck, went taught.

Arnold moved a little bit more then.

And then he didn't move at all.

The figure walked over to the vent it had used to get inside from the ceiling, crawled in, and took his leave.

* * *

"Hey…Phoebe?"

"It's been sixteen minutes and three seconds, Helga."

"Thanks, Phoebe."

There was some more silence…For the first time ever, Helga wished that attic space wasn't so small and so soundproof—great for secret monologues, bad for hearing your boyfriend scream at the sight of a shrine to him.

A couple more seconds passed.

Helga came to a decision.

"Phoebe, I'm gonna go check on him. I'm worried he passed out or something."

Phoebe sighed on the other end of the line. "Perhaps you're right, Helga. Maybe he requires some…direct explanation…of what's up there."

Helga nodded and sat up on her bed. "I'll call you later, Pheebs. And thanks for the emotional support."

"No problem, Helga." Phoebe replied cheerily. "Bye!"

"Bye."

Helga hung up her phone, took a deep breath and then stood up. She walked over to her shut closet door. _'I just hope my perfect little love god didn't take the thing TOO badly_…' she thought to herself as she opened it, stepped inside and prepared to head up to the attic…

* * *

Arnold sighed before sitting down on a nearby bench. He had failed to capture the café thief himself, but at least she had probably been apprehended by now. Maybe he should have told the security guard that she had stolen from the airport café? Arnold just shrugged. It didn't matter now. In about ten minutes, he would be on a plane back to Hillwood where he belonged. Living in his grandparents' boarding house, going to high school with all of his childhood friends, even getting a little part-time job somewhere. The young man's thoughts turned to Helga and he winced, clutching his chest and sighing deeply. Why did it hurt so much? Were his feelings towards Helga Pataki so strong that they were physically damaging him? There was still so much about love that Arnold didn't know. He felt the soft tickle of wet hot tears trickling down his cheek and wiped them away.

"I've lost so much…" he whispered to himself sadly.

"What's got you down, kid?" asked a feminine voice next to Arnold. He looked to his right to see a gorgeous woman with black hair and brilliant violet-blue eyes.

"Oh, I'm just a little… conflicted, I guess," Arnold responded before looking down at his shoes.

"What's on your mind?" the woman asked as she absently studied herself in the reflection of a small mirror while fixing her hair.

"I'm not sure if I wanna go home, or stay here."

"Why would you want to stay _here_?"

"Well…" Arnold began hesitantly, blushing slightly.

"Girl trouble, eh?"

"What gave me away?"

"Honey, I'm a reporter; and a pretty darn good one." The woman spoke with a slight smugness. "Plus, love's not an easy thing to hide. When you're in it, it's pretty obvious. Unless you're really good at putting up walls."

"Walls?" Arnold queried with a tilt of his oddly-shaped head.

"Emotional walls. Sometimes, people just have a hard time letting people in; letting them know who they _really_ are and how they _really_ feel. So, they build up these walls in order to keep people away. Because they're not ready for others to see the real them."

It made a lot of sense to Arnold. Helga had been putting up "walls" for years and Arnold had a difficult time tearing them down. Often he would wonder if he had been successful at all.

"That's actually really enlightening. Were you ever a psychologist or something?"

"Nope," the woman responded as she snapped her mirror shut and slid it back into her purse. "Just really smart. Kinda have to be with a husband like mine."

"Really? What's your husband like, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He's super," the woman grinned, "If a little on the gullible side at times."

"My name's Arnold," the teen introduced and extended his hand.

"Lois," the woman replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly.

"It's nice to meet you, Lois," Arnold smiled.

* * *

A teenage girl with blonde hair and blue eyes walked out of the supply closet, closing the door behind her, and yelped in surprise when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Your plane will be boarding shortly," the disguised Dark Knight informed. "Let's get going."

"Uh, sure," the girl replied warily. "Yeah, I'm ready to go, heh heh…"

Batman gave her a curious glare, then turned and headed down the hallway. "If this is some kind of trick, Helga, it won't work."

"Crimeny," the teenage girl scoffed. "I know I'm not getting away, so why would I try anything?"

Batman turned to glare at her for a moment, then turned his attention back to the end of the hall. As he walked, with Helga trailing him, the Dark Knight glanced at his tracker. He stopped.

"What?" Helga asked, annoyed.

"Nothing," Batman responded. "Let's get going."

They headed down the hallway and took a right, leading into a section of the airport that was currently being renovated. It was a large area that was to be a new lounge for the airport employees. Currently, the room was unoccupied. The Batman stopped.

"This is far enough."

"Huh?" Helga gave a funny look with a tilt of her head. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Before Helga could react, Batman hurled a batarang at the young woman's face. The metallic object buried itself into her forehead and the girl staggered backwards. The teenager stood there for a moment, her head tilted oddly backwards and she slowly brought it forward to direct her gaze at the Dark Knight. She chuckled maliciously in a voice that sounded nothing like Helga G. Pataki's.

"What gave me away, Batman?" the "girl" asked.

"Other than your shoddy performance, Karlo?"

At this, the form of Helga Pataki rippled and melted into the form of a large, hulking, clay monster with yellow eyes. "Come now, Batman," Karlo hissed, "I thought my performance was rather convincing." He ended the sentence by hurling a pillar of clay in Batman's direction, which the agile crime fighter leaped away from.

Batman knew that he was ill-equipped to face a villain like Clayface. The Dark Knight desperately needed to lure the shape-shifting criminal to the Batmobile (where he kept plenty of devices capable of subduing Basil Karlo) without getting any innocent civilians hurt.

It was a task easier said than done.

* * *

"So, tell me about this girl," Lois asked curiously. "Is she pretty?"

Arnold's cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, she's very pretty."

"Smart?"

"Very."

"Funny?"

"She cracks me up most of the time, yeah."

"So why leave?"

Arnold sighed and shook his head, glancing back to the floor. "We've hit a… snag… in our relationship…"

"What'd you do?"

Arnold shot her a look of annoyance. "What makes you think it was _me_?"

"It's usually the man's fault."

"Why does it always have to be the man's fault? Women make mistakes too, y'know."

"True," Lois agreed, "but you look like somebody with a lot of guilt inside."

"Guilt?" Arnold questioned and gave the woman a funny look. "I'm not guilty of anything. I mean, yeah, I've made some mistakes. I've done some things that I definitely need to apologize for. But the situation is _way_ more complicated than that."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, she's done some things too to make this relationship complicated. I just don't know what to do anymore."

"So you're just going to run away?"

"I'm not running away!" Arnold shot back angrily. "I just think that it might be better to let her live her own life."

"Don't give up, Arnold," Lois said gently, but with a serious tone in her voice. "If this girl truly loves you, then you owe it to her to try."

Arnold sighed wearily and ran a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. "I've never given up on anything. Not in my whole life… but… when it comes to Helga… I just… I just don't know _what_ to do…"

"Well, there's an easy answer for your problem, kid. You just have to-" Lois was interrupted by a loud crash and the from of a blonde-haired, bearded man exploded out of a wall several feet from their location. The man tumbled along the floor as dozens of screaming civilians scattered throughout the room in a mad dash to get away from the disturbance. Arnold looked to his female companion, only to see her rushing off towards the scene.

"What are you doing?" Arnold shouted after her.

"Getting the scoop before somebody else does!" Lois shouted back.

Arnold stared after the tenacious young woman as she dashed into the crowd of scurrying Gothamites. He grabbed one of his bags and headed for the nearest men's room.

The Phantasm was needed.

* * *

Helga Pataki struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. She looked over at the metal towel rack and noticed that one of the edges might just be capable of cutting the ropes and squirmed towards it. Leaning with her back against the edge of the rack, Helga moved her body up and down, cutting the ropes binding her wrists. After several tries, the teenager was successful in cutting her ropes. She pulled off the piece of duct tape covering her mouth and began untying the ropes on her ankles. The last thing she remembered before waking up with her wrists and ankles bound was the security guard entering the room. She had formed some half-assed excuse as to why she was in the supply closet without permission, when the guard shot out his arm towards Helga and knocked her unconscious.

At least, she thought it was an arm.

"No time to dwell on it now," Helga mused. "I need to find out what the hell's going on and quick." She threw open the door to the hallway and headed back to where she had left her bag.

It was time to unleash the Scarecrow.

* * *

"You're not going to win this one, Batman," Clayface gloated as he hurled a barrage of clay shrapnel at his enemy, which was narrowly avoided.

"What have you done with Helga Pataki?" The Dark Knight demanded, now dressed in his dark-colored costume after ditching his civilian disguise.

"Miss Pataki was to remain unharmed, according to my instructions. No need to worry yourself over _her_." Clayface shot out a muddy arm towards his adversary, catching hold of The Batman's ankle as he attempted to leap away from the attack. The shape-shifting criminal lifted the Dark Knight into the air and slammed him to the floor. "Your attention is best focused on _me_!"

Clayface began covering his foe with the sludge-like material that his body consisted of in an attempt to smother the hero. The thick cord of Batman's grapnel line shot out of his muddy prison and buried itself into the ceiling above, pulling the Caped Crusader free from Clayface's deadly grasp. Batman reached into his utility belt and hurled several batarangs into Basil Karlo's slimy form.

"Ha, ha! Those pathetic toys are useless against me, Ba-" Karlo was cut off as the metallic devices embedded into his body exploded, sending pieces of the villain flying across the room. Batman understood clearly that Karlo would soon reform into his monstrous state, so he had to act fast. Pushing a button on his utility belt, Batman activated the engine of the Batmobile and directed the vehicle to make its way towards his current location. Before he could activate the homing beacon that would send the car a signal as to where the crime fighter was located, the Dark Knight felt a tug on his waist as his utility belt was snatched off by the loose pieces of clay that had remained clinging to him after breaking free of Karlo's grasp. The clay pieces brought the item towards the now reconfigured Clayface who laughed as the object reached his grasp. "Let's see how tough you are without your fancy gadgets, Batman!"

Before Clayface could make another move, a gray figure burst through his chest and snatched the utility belt from the villains grasp, going into a roll and heading straight for the Caped Crusader. The Phantasm, with the belt now in his possession, prepared to toss the object to Batman, but was knocked to the floor as a clay mallet slammed into his back.

"Not so fast, fella," Karlo growled as his clay tendril wrapped around the Phantasm's foot and dragged him back towards the hideous criminal. The masked specter turned and sliced the tendril in half with his bladed gauntlet, then quickly leaped back to his feet and headed towards the Batman.

"Catch!" Arnold cried from behind his metallic mask as he hurled the belt towards the black-garbed crime-fighter. Batman caught it and strapped the device back around his waist, activating the beacon that would send his powerful vehicle speeding towards his current location.

"Little freak!" Clayface growled as he lifted the Phantasm into the air and slammed him hard into the ceiling. His grasp on the young vigilante tightened until Arnold was gasping for air from behind his mask. He winced hearing the slow cracking of his bones as Basil Karlo continued to squeeze the life out of him. He tried to scream in pain, but it only came out as a high-pitched gasp. "I don't know what you are," said Clayface, "but you won't delay my revenge." Arnold felt the cold grip of darkness wash over him as Clayface slowly tightened his grip on the teenager. The villain's concentration was broken as the Batmobile crashed through the wall of the airport and plowed right into the shape-shifter, sending globs of clay flying in all different directions. Freed from the clutches of his would-be killer, Arnold fell to his knees and gasped for air. "Are you all right?" the Batman asked as he helped the young hero back to his feet. Arnold nodded between coughs and directed his attention to the hallway where he had pursued the café thief, knowing that she was somehow involved. Without a word to the older crime fighter, Arnold dashed towards the hallway to investigate, not even hearing Batman's cry of protest.

* * *

Now in costume, the Scarecrow quietly made her way towards the commotion where Batman and Clayface had been battling. She peeked around a corner just in time to see the Batmobile run over the muddy villain, but something else caught her eye:

The Phantasm.

"I thought he was dead," Helga whispered under her breath.

"The young man is still very much alive."

Helga spun around to see a black-garbed figured standing behind her; her reflection in the man's goggles staring back at her. "Who the hell are you?" the young woman demanded.

"You can call me Ebony."

Helga considered the stranger before her and cocked her head to the side curiously. "You another vigilante or something?"

"Or something…" Ebony replied. He sauntered towards the young woman, who tensed and prepared herself for a fight. "I apologize for Mr. Karlo's behavior; I only needed him to create a diversion."

"Diversion?" Helga echoed. "You were the one who sent him after me!" she accused, pointing a menacing syringed finger at the man.

"I did."

"Well what do you want from me?"

"I want the same thing you want, Helga… For you to remain here in Gotham."

"Why?"

"That's not for you to know at this time. Suffice it to say, I have invested a great deal in your success, Ms. Pataki. I hope I made a wise decision."

"Success in what?" the Scarecrow asked, growing agitated.

"You will find out soon, Helga…"

"Stop calling me 'Helga'!" the Scarecrow cried. "Helga Pataki is DEAD, okay?" She eased up a bit, composing herself, then in a more ominous tone replied, "Only the Scarecrow remains."

"As it should be," Ebony agreed. "But remember that your ends satisfy my ends. You would do well to rid yourself of this 'Phantasm'… Permanently."

"I'm getting real sick of people bossing me around," the Scarecrow grumbled under her breath, causing a slight chuckle to emerge from her mysterious companion.

"We will meet again," Ebony spoke as he swaggered towards the airport's back exit.

Not feeling quite up to an argument with the man, Helga merely snorted and directed her attention towards a nearby flight of stairs. Assuming the fight to be over, the Scarecrow headed up to the roof where she would make her escape.

She had a lot to think about at the moment.

* * *

Arnold, hiding in a nearby air vent had only heard the very end of the conversation, but it was all he needed to know. The female Scarecrow was in league with the man who had killed his parents.

And, apparently, she had murdered Helga Pataki.

Filled with a boiling rage and sense of loss the likes of which he had never known before, Arnold slammed his fists into the air duct wall, creating a large dent. Tears formed in his eyes as memories of the time he had spent with the woman he loved flashed through his subconscious, and he wanted nothing more than to exact a painful, bloody revenge on the monster who had killed her. Then memories of his previous encounter with the Scarecrow flashed before his eyes. She had easily over-powered him and, had it not been for the Boy Wonder, Arnold would surely have met his end in that alley. He knew that patience was the key now. He would need much more training if he hoped to avenge Helga Pataki and bring this Scarecrow monster to justice. But he couldn't do it alone. With a heavy heart, Arnold headed for the nearest exit and made his way back to Robin's loft.

* * *

**Earth 396**

Helga stood upon the chair and gave the attic cord a firm yank, pulling it down.

The first thing she noticed was that…smell.

It was sweet…putrid…musty…

Rotting…

She didn't understand.

She slowly climbed into the attic. What else was there for her to do?

She put her hand on the attic floor to push herself up. "Ow!" She pulled her hand back. Something sharp had cut it… It felt like…glass? She sucked in her breath hard and sucked at her finger for a second to clot the small wound. And then she blinked…because she realized that except for the faint glow of an incense burner or two, the…the lights were…out?

It was very shadowy…very dim.

"Crimeny, what the—" She'd placed her other hand on the floor to push herself up…and she'd hit something…slick. She lifted her hand up. It felt wet. Warm and…wet.

She felt sick. What had happened up here? And where was Arnold?

She was getting a little scared…for herself and her beloved…Where was he?

"A-Arnold?" she barely whispered.

Nothing.

She glanced to one of the faintly glowing incense burners on the floor and picked it up to use to locate the pull string for the small room's overhead bulb (she rarely used the thing, considering how powerful the glow of the shrine Christmas lights and candles usually was, but she still knew it was there from that first time she'd come up here to have a look around…scout out the place as a temple for her love for Arnold). '_Maybe there was a power surge or something…Christmas lights might have burned out…_' she thought to herself as she searched for the dangling thread in the darkness. '_But even that still doesn't explain…Where…Where are you, Arnold_?'

She knew where the string was supposed to fall in the center of the room, and that knowledge coupled with the faint glow of one of the incense burner in her hand let her eyes fall upon it pretty quickly. A half smile of relief came to her face as she took a step forward to pull i—

"OOF!" Her foot had caught on some books or something on the floor, and suddenly she felt herself go off-balance and then fall forward, deeper into the room, though she at least managed to cling to the light bulb cord in an attempt to steady herself. It being very flimsy and thin though, rather than managing to keep herself standing she just ended up giving a firm pull to the end as she fell forward.

She felt herself slam into something big that swayed but not too much as she went against it, doing her best to use it for balance…Soft…Cold. Her eyes were shut from the fall.

Also, the overhead bulb light was on now.

Helga opened her eyes and straightened up from whatever-the-heck old thing she'd been using for balance. "Crimeny, what th—"

That 'old thing' she'd been using for balance…actually turned out to be a 'young thing'…a 'dead thing' too…It swung back into her a little bit thanks to her initial forceful let-go of it, giving her a small nudge. And then there was green and plaid right in front of her open eyes.

Of course, after seven years, she'd know that color scheme anywhere. And so she processed that she'd bumped into Arnold. At first she smiled and thought he'd been stumbling around in the dark too…or maybe he'd even been hiding, trying to surprise her, the loopy little thing… Or, what was more likely from how he'd felt to her touch, the sight of the shrine really had just scared the little shrimp stiff…poor little shy thing that he was… Her head didn't really want to see at first that he was a lot…higher up…than Arnold should have been.

When the blood from the crack in his head started to drip-drop onto her hair though…then she looked up. She didn't want to look up, of course—her subconscious hadn't been letting her. She had just been standing there, smiling near Arnold like she just was waiting for him to finally tell her what he thought of the shrine or something. But the drip-drop on her head made her look up on instinct.

His eyes were…

They were…

Well, she…she had to reach up and touch them…touch those bulging…she had to touch them to believe they were…Just…she had to touch them.

She pulled her hand away eventually.

And then with a kind of a funny smile she shook her head, walked across the attic space, climbed down the ladder…exited her closet.

In her room she shut the closet door behind her and then changed into her pajamas. She then went over to be bed and open window, took a moment to undo a tangled rope from the tree outside, and carefully coiled it up. She just looked at it for a second…really…really looked at it for a second…Looked at how strong it was…how easily it had tangled so taught in the branches of that tree… If it had been able to securely hold the body of a ten-year-old boy, certainly it stood to reason that it could hold the neck of a ten-year-old gir—

That smile from before came to her face and she just shook her head again, and then carefully took the rope and laid it upon the basket of pink poetry books she kept by her nightstand, sliding it just a little more into the darkness under her bed. Before shutting off her lamp her eyes fell on her Arnold locket resting against its base. That item, she allowed to be worn around her neck…The thought of the rope might have been put away but there was…there was something soothing about the chain around her neck…tightly digging into the skin if she pulled it just right.

Helga pulled the covers over her body and then put out the light. She turned over, and smiled and slept in the darkness.

* * *

The five or six days passed rather normally except for one thing, of course: Arnold Shortman had been missing for about a week. Apparently he'd left his home at the Sunset Arms Boarding House on the previous Saturday night…and hadn't been seen since. It had been supposed by his family that he'd been heading to his friend Helga Pataki's house, but police, after speaking with the Pataki parents, had confirmed that they'd been out at the airport all evening and had then arrived home at 9:30 to a dark, fully locked-up brownstone in which their daughter had been soundly sleeping. There had been no sign of guests, and no mention by their daughter of Arnold at all. The boy must not have made it over…

The police spoke to other adults in the neighborhood as well and they eventually wanted to question the children, though all of the parents were a little hesitant about that at first, of course…Still, by this point things were getting desperate, and so when two officers showed up at the Pataki door on the Saturday morning following the young boy's disappearance and kindly asked for just a word or two with Helga to help with the investigation, Bob and Miriam finally agreed to let them go up to their younger daughter's room to speak with her...

In truth, the Pataki's also wanted them to talk to their daughter about this strange, unfortunate incident because…she hadn't exactly been herself since right around the time it had happened. She hadn't gone to school all week, for example. She just kept…smiling and saying that she…couldn't. Not just yet. And then when they would make her meals everyday—a little breakfast, then lunch, then dinner—she always asked for extra servings right away, never coming down for seconds or thirds but just taking them automatically, almost like she was storing it or hiding it away or using it for something… Anyway, she just kept going up to her room with food three times a day and then going to sleep and then waking up to start the process over again… Never coming down except to get that food, and politely discouraging her parents from visiting her up there at all. They were starting to worry she was depressed actually, but…maybe talking about it or feeling like she was helping somehow with the search for her friend would make things better. They crossed their fingers and hoped so, at least.

_KNOCK KNOCK_

"Ms. Pataki? Hello? Sweetheart, listen…I'm Officer Millers and this is Officer Asher. We'd just like to ask you a few questions… Your parents are downstairs and they said we could come up."

They slowly entered the pink room. Their searching eyes met the sweet sight of a smiling ten-year-old girl dressed in pink and with blond pigtails who gave them a small wave from where she was sitting on the edge of her bed with a tray with two sandwiches on it. "Oh. Hi coppers. How's it going?" she asked with just a touch of playful, precocious sarcasm.

The officers just looked to each other with smiles and the smiled at Helga. "We're pretty good kid…" Millers began. "We'd just like to ask you a question or two if that's okay. About your little friend, Ar—"

"UP BUP BUP!" Helga instantly (and very VERY firmly) cut them off. "Uh, before I answer anything, would you guys mind if I finished my lunch? I've been stuck in this stupid room for DAYS waiting for something, and it's been hungry work!" She smiled warmly at them upon finishing her request and answer.

The officers…just looked at her kind of strangely.

"Uh, sure kid…" Officer Millers nodded, "You can eat while we talk—no problem. It'll just take a few minutes, really, and then we'll be on to the next house."

Helga just shook her head, her eyes shut. "No, no, no…I've gotta go up _there_ to eat! Duh!" She pointed vaguely upward. "Otherwise this other sandwich is gonna get too warm and the meat's gonna turn bad or something!"

That made sense to the officers…kind of.

"And he'll be hungry!"

That didn't make as much sense.

The officers just looked at each other again. "He?" asked Asher, his eyes falling back to Helga.

Helga's eyes opened and she blushed a little…but then nodded firmly with a smile. "Well, I guess a lady shouldn't kiss-and-tell but…cat was bound to come out of the bag anyway with how lousy I've been getting lately at keeping secrets, so…yeah, he'll be hungry if he doesn't have lunch. Doi!" She almost laughed… "Or…" and then she hesitated…and some of that laughter died just a little, "Or, I guess…if it's very important that you ask your questions…I could just bring him down here to eat. Just so he doesn't feel like his date ditched him or anything." She then stood up, leaving the sandwich tray to rest on her bed. "Yeah…" she nodded to herself, "As long as I put him right back so he can finish, he won't mind." And then the pigtailed little blond girl walked across the room, opened the closet, went in, stood on her chair and opened the attic.

The stench was unbearable.

The officers all but fell to their knees…but both managed to just barely notice that the girl seemed unphased…And then she disappeared for a moment up in the closet.

The two men managed to stand as she climbed that ladder into the ceiling, and looked to each other, hesitating for a couple of seconds between the ideas of running down to grab the parents and running into the closet to see what the hell was up…

They didn't have to wait very long to find out 'what was u', though.

The pink-wearing ten-year-old girl walked out soon, something large slung over her shoulders, a smile still on her face.

She sat it down on her bed.

At first they thought it was a doll. A really…a really fucked up doll.

But they knew the description of the missing kid pretty well. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, green sweater…football shaped head.

Millers fell to his knees.

Asher…he just started to cry.

Helga just gave a small, coy little laugh and set the platter of sandwiches between herself and her bloated, graying, reeking, rotting beloved. "Arnold dear," she turned to him, "These lame-o officers wanna ask us a couple of questions. I told them it was our lunchtime though so we all agreed that you and me would answer but that we could eat down here while we did it." Her voice then took on a playfully scolding tone as she went on, wagging her finger at the body. "Oh but the second this is over I'm marching your butt right back up there, mister! Honestly, a week in that attic and you STILL haven't told me what you think of my shrine! Crimeny, Arnold, I'm gonna start taking that as a bad sign." She giggled…kissed its forehead…brushed her lips against its lips coyly and shyly…and then turned back to the officers with a smile. "So…what did you want to know, boys? We're all ears." She placed a hand on the green sweater covered shoulder and began letting her fingers absentmindedly play with some of the Christmas lights that were still limply coiled around its neck.

It took…numerous shots of tranquilizers when the medics came to get Helga passed out so that they could get the corpse from her… Even more shots of the stuff later on after all of that to keep her calm when she woke up and found herself in a hospital and not her room waiting for Arnold's reaction to her closet shrine, where she was supposed to be…And she was even more impossible to deal with since her beloved wasn't at least here in this strange new place to comfort her. She didn't want him to feel left alone!

And as for everyone else, no one was really sure what had happened…There was no way a little girl could have strung up a full-grown kid like that... The doors to the house had been locked, though, against intruders…Suicide, maybe but…why? No one understood. None of it made sense or seemed right.

As for Helga, in the end, it was all too risky, trying to tell her the truth…to let her even begin trying to go back to her normal life. So they decided to keep her locked away somewhere permanently. She was just too far gone…and any attempts to bring her back only led to screams and near suicide. They even had to take away the chain part of that locket of hers…One day she'd just started pulling it tighter and tighter, all because she liked it, and… Yeah, they took it away.

They settled for bringing her someplace happy and safe where she couldn't hurt herself, giving her her chainless locket with the boy's picture in it, and telling her whenever she asked (a couple of times a week, actually) that Arnold just needed a 'little more time' before he could let her know about the shrines ('Whatever that meant…' the hospital orderlies would always think to themselves as they left her…).

And as for Arnold, he was buried not too much later. Helga didn't attend the funeral for obvious reasons. And why should she? After all… her beloved still lingered in her attic shrine…nervous little nelly that he was…keeping her in suspense to find out whether or not he had liked her one week anniversary present for him.


	11. Heavy Metal

**Author's Note:**

New chapter up! As always, let me know what you think:

**Beta's Note:**

Hey, everyone, here's another great chapter for all of you. Be prepared for a lot of great action sequences and another plot twist or two, of course. Also, Edward Crane is currently seeking more HA! fanfic writers to do alternate earth stories for this fic. Basically you take a scene from one of your fics and rewrite it so that Arnold gets killed off by the same mysterious murderer who's been bumping him off in all of the other alternate earth parts of this fic. If you're interested, please contact Edward Crane via PM. Thanks and enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Basil Karlo, a former Academy Award-Winning actor who had been transformed into the monstrous Clay-face, directed a cold stare towards the man who had, yet again, brought him to justice. Batman returned the cold glare with one of his own, causing the villain to shift his gaze towards the wall of his cell.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," said the Dark Knight, "what is your employer's interest in Helga Pataki?"

"You've already tossed me back into Arkham," Clayface informed. "What more could you possibly do to me?"

There was a brief silence and Batman turned towards the lone (yet heavily armed) security guard in the far corner of the room. "Open it."

"Alright, _alright_," the captured villain conceded, putting his hands in the air. "He didn't say much. Only that he had 'invested' a great deal in the Pataki girl and that her continued presence in Gotham City was very profitable to him."

"Profitable how?' Batman asked and Clayface merely shrugged his shoulders.

"He didn't say. All he was willing to discuss was how he needed her to stay in Gotham. That's all he told me and I didn't care to know anything further."

Batman eyed the criminal warily, but he was fairly certain that Clayface was not lying to him. It wasn't entirely uncommon for criminals (even ones as talented as Basil Karlo) to be kept in the dark when it came to tasks involving money.

"If I find out you're holding anything back…"

"I've told you everything I know," Karlo assured and this seemed to placate the Batman.

The Dark Knight turned away from Karlo and headed towards the exit of the Asylum, pondering the information he had learned from the captured supervillain.

Apparently, he had been hired by a mercenary going by the name of "Ebony": a mercenary with, no doubt, insidious designs on the Helga Pataki. What did he want the teenage girl for, anyway? And why was it so "profitable" to him for Helga to remain in Gotham City? Either way, this mysterious enemy was definitely worth further investigation.

"Computer," Batman spoke as he entered his powerful, black vehicle. "Give me any information regarding the activities of a mercenary going by the name of Ebony."

"_Searching…"_ the computer announced in its warm, yet unemotional voice. _"Information not found."_

Batman merely nodded, already assuming that whoever this man was, he was clearly quite capable of keeping his actions in the dark. The crime-fighter's contemplations were interrupted by a familiar voice emitting from the speaker on the Batmobile's computer console.

"Master Bruce," Alfred addressed.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"You have a message from a Mr. Rip Hunter, sir."

The Batman's eyes widened behind the lenses of his mask at the mention of the time traveler's name. "Patch it through."

"Batman," Rip's voice came through from the same speaker. "This is Rip Hunter. I have urgent business with you that requires your immediate attention. Meet me at Gotham Harbor at midnight. See you then."

A sharp beep indicated that the message had ended, allowing Batman to reflect on its urgency.

"Alfred, trace the source of the message and find out where it originated from."

"I have already seen to it, sir. According to the computer, the message was sent from an unknown location."

Rip Hunter was a man that Batman believed could be trusted, but the shortness of his message, along with the sense of urgency in his tone and the fact that it could not be traced gave the Dark Knight pause. Whatever it is that seemed to be alarming Hunter in such a way must be of great importance. But why come to Batman when there were so many others more experienced in dealing with time travel?

Unless, of course, Rip felt that Batman was the only one he could trust at this time for some reason…

Regardless, Batman definitely intended to meet up with the time traveler at the appointed location, but he was no fool. The message could easily have been a trap, and Batman was more than determined to ensure that he would be ready for it should be it sprung.

* * *

Helga pulled off her mask and tossed it atop her kitchen counter. She sighed wearily and took a seat at her kitchen table, pulling off her boots and gloves in the process. What was she to make of this mysterious "Ebony"? He had helped her in escaping from the Batman (which was a very good thing considering that she had no intention whatsoever of returning to Hillwood), but there was just something about the ominous mercenary that just didn't sit well with her. Perhaps it was his sudden appearance in the airport hallway, along with the fact that he was not above putting innocent lives in danger if it meant getting what he wanted. But was Helga so different? Was she willing to sacrifice innocent lives in her career as a… What? A super-villain? Helga shook her head at the notion. While she was indeed quite ruthless (and perhaps even merciless), killing a completely innocent civilian was something she just wasn't willing to do. Then again, no one is truly innocent, right?

Perhaps, but there was something more unsettling about this man that Helga couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this man was responsible for the death of Arnold's parents. Of course, this was merely a theory. While the man wore an outfit resembling the ones Ra's Al Ghul's soldiers wore, this didn't necessarily mean that _he_ was the one who had rigged and set off the bombs that destroyed the plane Miles and Stella Shortman had been on. When Roman Sionis had told her and Batman of his encounter with the black-garbed mercenary, Helga had been quite preemptive with her declaration that it was Ebony who had murdered Arnold's parents. It was, in all honesty, just a hunch. But it was a hunch Helga had to pursue further, so she had decided to feign ignorance of any knowledge about Ebony in order to get closer to him and find out just what the mysterious mercenary was up to, and if he was really the one responsible for the deaths of the Shortmans.

The reminder of that terrible tragedy sent the young woman reeling and Helga brought a trembling hand to her face; the very same spot Arnold had slapped her before she hit him back and stormed off into the jungles of San Lorenzo. Why did the memories of that day still resonate so fully in her mind? Why did it still seem to have such an effect on her? Deep down, in the darkest recesses of her mind, Helga knew the answer clearly.

She still blamed herself for their deaths.

The Shortmans had been like the parents she never had. Upon meeting them, the two had treated her with such kindness and love the likes of which Helga had never known and, considering her feelings for Arnold at the time, she truly felt as if they were her real family. She still felt that if she had only allowed Arnold to try to save his parents, he might have been successful.

"Arnold…" she whispered as if the name had brought back some painful memory and, indeed, it had. She crumpled her face in anger and shot up out of her chair. Why was she still thinking about that stupid football-headed little twerp? That was part of her past – no – part of _Helga's_ past; and Helga Pataki was dead.

Wasn't she?

The young woman growled in frustration and stormed off into her bedroom for some much needed rest.

Tomorrow was her meeting with 'M'.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Crane?"

Jonathan Crane looked up from his literature to see Warren White, aka the Great White Shark, swaggering towards him, two rather large inmates on either side of him. Crane smiled a greeting and set his book down so that he could properly discuss his business with the disfigured criminal.

"Hello, Warren," Crane greeted warmly, "How are you feeling today?"

White took a seat across from the good doctor and casually draped his right leg over the arm of the chair. "Not bad. Meds got me feeling kind of antsy but, eh, I can't complain. I hear you wanted to talk business?"

Crane nodded and pushed up his glasses. "Yes, I would like to hire a skilled individual to perform a minor task for me. My current benefactor is a mysterious individual whose motives I am beginning to question."

"Who did you have in mind?" White asked, scratching his chin.

"Is Deathstroke available?"

Warren's eyes lit up for a moment and he shook his head. "No, he's workin' on a contract already, last I heard. Gotta say, though, bit of an overkill, don't you think?"

Crane merely shrugged, not entirely disappointed with the news. While he did require the skills of an experienced mercenary such as Slade Wilson, his services didn't come cheap.

"I hear Crazy Quilt's lookin' to make a few easy bucks," White suggested, drawing a chuckle from Crane.

"I don't find that at all surprising. No, I need someone a little less… pathetic…"

"I think I've got just the guy," Warren replied smugly.

"I'll trust in your decision then. Nothing too expensive, I hope?"

"Nah," Warren scoffed with a wave of his hand. "I mean, he ain't cheap; but he ain't Deathstroke. Plus, the guy's got the skills to pay the bills. So, what's the job? Recon?"

"Something like that," Crane said, leaning back in his chair and resting his head in his palms. "I need him to determine the identity and motives of my current benefactor, as I have already stated. The problem is, I know very little about this person and I'm not quite sure if I can divulge any useful information your man might be able to use in his investigation."

"That's gonna be a problem," Warren said, stroking his chin. "But I gotta tell you, this doesn't seem too out of the ordinary. I mean, I deal with guys like that all the time. If he wants to remain anonymous, that's his business if you ask me."

"Normally I would agree with you," Crane spoke as he nodded his head. "But I am beginning to suspect that my benefactor may very well be mentally unstable."

"So?" Warren reasoned.

"I mean _very_ unstable. I'm talking Joker-level unstable."

Warren's eyes widened in surprise and he leaned away from the doctor. "Whoa, just what kind of nutcase are we dealing with here? I mean, I didn't even know they _got_ as bad as the Joker until I met the guy! I just assumed he was a 'special case', y'know?"

Crane shrugged helplessly. "I didn't either, but something just isn't right about this person; and I don't want to be on the business end of that instability when the time comes. If this person is as bad as I suspect, I want to be prepared for the eventuality that I might find myself at odds with their scheme."

"Can't say I blame you," Warren agreed. "Alright, I'll have my man do what he can. Do you have any information at all he might be able to use?"

"Only that the target has a place on Avenue X. Although I'm not sure if it's been used recently. This was about two months ago."

"Well, that's a start," Warren said optimistically. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, you know where to find me."

"There's… one other thing," Crane began, lowering his voice and Warren leaned in close.

"I need to get out of here."

* * *

_Arnold looked around in the cold darkness, trying to make out the shape of the tree house directly above him. It was hard to see and he didn't want to wind up falling from the rope ladder he was now climbing, but a small light from inside the tree house made it a little easier for him as he ascended._

"_Helga?" he called into the tree house upon entering. He saw the girl staring up at the sky outside the makeshift window of the tree fort._

"_Come sit with me, Arnold," she softly requested._

_Arnold scurried towards the little girl he cared so much about and sat down next to her._

"_What are you doing out here, Helga?" the boy asked. "It's pretty late for you to be out."_

"_I could say the same about you, Short-Man," Helga retorted._

"_Well, when I got your phone call, you sounded like you were on the verge of tears. I was worried. Is everything all right, Helga?"_

_The little blonde girl looked up at him and smiled, her brilliant sapphire eyes glistening beneath the paleness of the moon. Arnold's eyes widened in shock as he noticed the shiner under the girl's right eye._

"_What happened?" he asked, reaching over to touch the bruise._

_Helga backed away, gently pushing the boy's hand back. "It's nothing. Bob just got a little angry with me tonight."_

_A mixture of desperation and pain crossed Arnold's innocent features as he regarded the little girl next to him. "You have to tell somebody about what he's doing to you, Helga. It isn't right."_

"_I can handle myself, bucko!" Helga shot back angrily. "Besides, it's not like anyone in this shit-hole town gives a damn about me anyway."_

"_What are you saying?" Arnold asked incredulously. "_I_ care about you. And so does Phoebe. And the boarders. Lots of people love you, Helga. Why can't you just realize that?"_

_The pigtailed girl stared at her football-headed boyfriend for a moment, her eyes piercing into Arnold's form._ _"Do you mean that?"_

"_What?" Arnold asked, his face twisting in confusion._

"_Do you mean that?" Helga repeated, adding a bit more force into her tone._

"_Well… yes, Helga. I know Phoebe hasn't been spending as much time with you as she used to, but she's with Gerald and it's hard splitting up time with friends and… more-than-friends."_

"_I wasn't talking about Phoebe," Helga clarified._

"_The boarders love you too, Helga. You know that. Why, just the other day, Mr. Hyunh and I were-"_

"_I'm talking about YOU, idiot!" Helga cried._

"_M-ME?" Arnold stammered, not knowing where Helga was going with any of this._

"_Yes, YOU. Do you love me? It's a simple fucking question, Arnold."_

"_Where did you learn that language, Helga?" Arnold had to ask._

_Helga just glared at the little boy, causing him to shrink back a bit towards the other side of the tree house._

"_Do. You. Love me?" Helga asked again._

"… _Yes," was Arnold's answer._

"_Then why did you hesitate?" Helga demanded._

"_I-I didn't," Arnold tried to from an explanation, but nothing came to mind. Why_ did_ he hesitate? Arnold had to wonder._

"_Yes you did," Helga shot back angrily, tears forming in her eyes. "Now tell me _why_, Arnold. I think I deserve to know."_

_Arnold fumbled with his words for a second, trying to decipher his feelings towards the girl at that moment. "I… I just…"_

"_TELL ME!" she screamed._

"_I'm scared of you!" Arnold yelled back and Helga was stunned._

"_W-What-?"_

"_I'm scared of you, Helga. Jesus, you scare the hell out of me sometimes. One minute you're bullying me, another you're trying to kiss me, then another you're completely inconsolable and talking about how you're not 'good enough' for me!"_

"_That's not true…" Helga tried to argue._

"_Yes it is, Helga! You walk around school all day treating everybody around you like crap, and nobody says anything because they think you're a lunati…" Arnold let the sentence end there, realizing what he was saying and the impact it had had on the girl in front of him. Arnold, ashamed at what he was about to say merely looked away from her, a sad and regretful look on his face._

"_Is that what you really think, Arnold?" Helga asked in all seriousness. "You think I'm crazy or something?"_

_Arnold just shook his head slowly, still unable to look the young woman in the eye._

"_Well maybe that's a good thing, then," Helga told him, her voice trembling then in a mixture of sadness and anger. "Maybe people _should_ be afraid of me. I mean, after all, nobody can hurt you if they're too afraid to, right?"_

_Arnold said nothing and Helga just shook her head helplessly._

"_Maybe I _am_ scary," Helga said as she stood up and made her way to the tree house exit. She turned towards the young boy one last time before descending down to ground level. "Or maybe you're just a coward."_

_Arnold just looked away, still incapable of saying anything to the young girl as she climbed down the rope ladder and ran home._

* * *

Arnold's eyes fluttered open as he awoke from his dream, one that recalled yet another time that Helga Pataki had confounded him. Why was he reliving these moments of is life with her? The Phantom Stranger had told him that his dreams were important somehow; that they meant something. But Arnold still couldn't wrap his mind around what any of it might mean. He got out of bed and got dressed before walking into the living room to see Robin in the kitchen making breakfast.

"I got your letter," he said as he flipped two pancakes over in a cast-iron skillet. "Thought you were leaving."

"So did I," Arnold groaned as he stretched and felt something in his back pop.

"What happened?" asked Robin.

Arnold sighed and walked over to a stool by the kitchen counter. "Well, I made it to the airport when some crazy mud monster attacked. Next thing I know, I'm getting crushed by the thing while Batman's running it over with his car."

Robin nodded his head while preparing breakfast for the two of them. "Yeah, I heard about that. It was on the news this morning. Did you get a chance to talk to him?"

"Who?"

"Batman," Robin clarified.

"Oh," Arnold began, shaking his head. "No…" Arnold was quiet for a long moment as he replayed the events of the previous night in his head.

Robin, noticing that Arnold had just trailed off, glanced back at the blonde teenager over his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked, his tone one of concern.

"Robin…" Arnold began, tears forming in his eyes. The boy slipped off of the stool and fell to his knees on the floor, sobbing profusely.

Robin immediately set down the skillet and went to his friend's aid. "What happened, man?" he asked gently, yet his voice was filled with concern.

"She's dead, Robin…" Arnold stated, his voice cracking and full of pain.

A sense of inescapable dread washed over the Boy Wonder and he began trembling. "Wh-Who's dead, Arnold…?"

"HELGA!" Arnold cried out in agony, his sobbing increasing a hundredfold.

Robin wrapped his arms around his good friend, trying desperately to comfort him. "How…" the masked teen began, "… how do you know that?"

"That monster… the one from the other night… the one who attacked me…"

"Yeah…?" Robin coaxed, understanding whom Arnold was referring to.

"She said she killed her!" the teen cried out.

"You don't know that for sure," Robin stated, his voice filled with hope.

"She was talking to the same man who killed my parents," Arnold explained between sobs, "The one called 'Ebony'."

"We'll just have to go investigate, then," Robin said, holding Arnold back at arms length.

"But…" Arnold tried to argue.

"Look, man," Robin spoke confidently, "in my line of work, you have to realize that things aren't always what they seem. I can't count the number of times I thought one of my friends – or, hell, even _enemies_ – were dead, just to see them come back the next day."

Noticing the positive effect his words were having on his blonde counterpart, Robin flashed a confident smile. "Trust me, man; Helga Pataki is one of the toughest people I know. I wouldn't bet on her being dead until I saw a body and the autopsy results."

Arnold nodded, still sniffling. "Yeah," he agreed. "You're probably right."

Robin, satisfied that he had calmed his friend, patted the young man on the shoulder and went back to preparing breakfast. "Tonight, we can head downtown and meet up with an old friend of mine. If anybody knows anything about this 'Ebony' guy, it's him."

Arnold just nodded and got back up to sit in his chair.

"Now…" Robin announced, turning back to face his companion. "… How do you want your eggs?"

* * *

The Batmobile pulled up between two warehouses and the cowled crime-fighter soon emerged from the vehicle. He took a good look around, making sure that no one was there waiting to steal or otherwise tamper with the car in any way. Not that it would matter; the Batmobile's security systems would alert Batman to anyone attempting to even touch the car. Plus, the vehicle had many security measures to prevent any intrusion.

Batman walked out onto the wharves of Gotham Harbor and observed the man standing by the water, looking out over the harbor.

"Rip," Batman addressed as he made his way towards the figure.

The man turned around to regard his black-garbed visitor, his red hair billowing in the breeze.

"Batman," he greeted back and the two shook hands.

"What's this about, Rip," the Dark Knight got straight to the point.

"There's been a series of grizzly murders throughout the multiverse, Batman. Strangely, the victim appears to be the same in each Earth: Arnold Phillip Shortman."

The Batman's eyes widened beneath the lenses of his cowl and he nodded his head slightly.

"Any leads?" he asked.

"None," Rip answered, shaking his head in frustration. He reached into the folds of his tan jacket and produced a manila folder, then handed it to the world's greatest detective. "These are photos taken of the crime scenes," Rip continued as Batman studied each photograph carefully. "We have reason to believe-,"

"We?" Batman interrupted.

"I've been working on this case with the individual who first brought these murders to my attention. He calls himself 'Gold Glory'."

"Gold Glory," Batman said under his breath, as if tasting the word on the tip of his tongue. "And you say it was he who brought you these photos?"

"Some of them," Rip explained. "When he told me about the deaths, I had to do a little investigating of my own. I took a lot of the other pictures myself. You wouldn't believe how horrific some of these deaths are."

Batman flipped through the photographs of the murders and determined that Rip was correct in his opinion of how grizzly these murders were. But, having witnessed the aftermath of maniacs like the Joker, Batman was more than used to this kind of thing by now.

"I'd like to speak to this Gold Glory, if possible," Batman requested.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Rip said simply.

"Why did you bring this to _my_ attention?" Batman asked.

Rip shrugged his shoulders, as if the answer should be obvious.

"You're the world's greatest detective, are you not?" Rip answered. Batman nodded slowly, but he knew that there was more to his involvement than just his detective prowess.

"There's another reason, though, isn't there?" asked the Batman.

Rip paused for a moment, then looked around, as if suspecting the killer to walk right out of the shadows and attack them then and there. He took a few steps closer to Batman and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whoever the killer is, he or she has some kind of grudge against Arnold Shortman."

"That's obvious," Batman agreed.

"Well, what if I told you that Arnold happens to be _here_; in Gotham City?"

"I already know that," Batman revealed and Rip went back on his heels.

"How?" he asked.

"Robin informed me that he had picked up Arnold on his way back from a mission in San Lorenzo," Batman explained. "The two have been roommates for the past few weeks now."

Rip nodded his approval and Batman held up the folder.

"You can keep those, if you think they'll help," Rip said.

Batman nodded as he flipped through the photographs one more time. He stopped on one picture in particular and held it up for the time-traveler to see. The image depicted a version of Arnold with his heart torn out of his chest and the words "Make it Right" written in blood on a nearby wall.

"Any idea what this means?" Batman asked.

"Not a clue," Rip answered, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

"The same message can be seen in some of the other photographs, but they're a bit more subtle than that."

Batman examined a few more and discovered that Hunter was right. One photo depicted a version of Arnold with his throat slit; but, upon close inspection, the Batman could make out the words "Make it Right" written into the puddle of blood next to the young man's lifeless body.

The Caped Crusader placed the envelope into the folds of his cape.

"I'll need any evidence you can find from these crime scenes: fingerprints, murder weapons, even a sample of the air might lead to a clue."

Rip merely shook his red-haired head. "We've tried all of that. No toxicity levels in the air, no murder weapons left on the scene, no fingerprints that lead to a suspect, nothing. So far the only thing we have to work with are the crime scenes themselves and most of them were bleached clean; with the exception of Arnold's blood."

Batman grunted in frustration as he slipped the folder into the folds of his cape. He then produced a small transmitter from his utility belt and handed it to the red-haired time-traveler.

"You can contact me from anywhere on Earth at any time using that transmitter," he explained. "Keep me updated and let me know when you can schedule a meeting for me with Gold Glory."

Rip nodded as Batman turned to depart and headed towards his car.

"What will you being doing until then?" Rip called after him.

"What I do best."

* * *

According to Black Mask's sources, the Venom dealer known as "M" was currently using an old landfill barge on the outskirts of Gotham to store his supplies of the deadly drug. Scattered throughout there were large shipping containers filled with crates containing thousands of vials of the liquid. "M" would use the barge to move the Venom from place to place without anyone being the wiser. Helga had to give it to the guy; it was a clever plan. But the Scarecrow was determined to confront this mysterious drug dealer to find out everything he knew about the mysterious "Ebony" and, if necessary, take down his whole operation.

Helga snuck aboard the barge and was surprised at the lack of security throughout the vessel. She counted only three men, armed with simple SMGs, patrolling the area. She knew there had to be more men than this aboard the ship, otherwise how could four men possibly load these massive containers on and off the barge? She carefully made her way throughout the vessel and observed a man wearing a black sweater, ski mask, and cargo pants speaking to another man in a grey suit with blonde hair and sunglasses. Flanking the suited man were four men – two on each side – armed with AK-47s and wearing black suits.

"Your drug wears off too quickly, my friend," the grey-suited man spoke with a thick Russian accent, "I have a feeling that you are, how you say, 'ripping me off', eh?"

"The money you gave me was counterfeit," the masked man explained. "So I gave you the 'cheap stuff."

"Who is caring if money was counterfeit, Em?" the outraged Russian shouted. "It is still good."

"I don't accept fake money, Motlatov," the masked man, now revealed to be "M", shot back. "Counterfeit money can be traced by the cops; and the last thing I need is for the feds to come sniffing around my barge."

"This is not problem of mine," Motlatov explained. "Either you give me what I came here for, or my men and I take it from you. Your choice, my friend."

"You're welcome to try, Motlatov," the masked man said without hesitation, "But that would be a very unwise decision."

The well-dressed Russian laughed heartily at his masked host's warning. "Look around you, my friend," Motlatov cried, gesturing towards his well-armed associates. "It is five against one! And I have more men who have already infiltrated your vessel and slaughtered what little people you had. You are in no condition to fight me."

Helga looked back at the three men who were patrolling the barge to see that the Russian's claims were true. Each man had been shot and replaced by one of Motlatov's own henchman, each wearing fine Italian suits.

But if the one called "M" was at all disturbed by the odds against him, he wasn't showing it. He merely chuckled softly and shook his head helplessly. "I can easily find new dregs willing to work for me," the masked man assured.

The Russian raised an eyebrow at "M"'s statement and scoffed. "I do not think that you are understanding the gravity of the situation, my friend. Have you noticed that this is a one-sided battle?"

Before another move could be made, a pistol appeared in the hand of the enigmatic masked man and he fired at the over-confident Russian. The grey-suited man jerked backwards and reached for his own weapon as his thugs lifted their AK-47s and opened fire.

Several shots missed their mark, but the ones that did garnered no reaction from "M" as the masked individual continued firing upon the group of Russian gangsters. Down each mobster went as bullet after bullet tore through their bodies. The ones who had killed "M"'s men started firing upon him as well, but the results were the same as the gun-toting drug dealer hardly seemed to notice. He turned his aim towards the remaining henchmen and gunned them down as well without ever re-loading his weapon. When the smoke had cleared and the violence had settled, "M" walked over to the gasping, bleeding form of Motlatov still squirming on the ground dying slowly from his bullet wounds.

"You…" the Russian sputtered as a spray of blood escaped his lips and dripped onto the floor. "… You… will p-pay… for… this…" the dying mobster coughed up some more blood as "M" sauntered towards him. "I will… see you… in hell…"

"Hell," the masked drug-dealer said as if hearing the word for the first time. "Yes, I know of hell. I have spent many years in a hell created by a man more evil than the Devil himself."

"M" lifted his pistol and aimed for the Russian's head.

"Where you're going will seem like a paradise compared to the hell I live with every second of my life."

Motlatov started to reply but his voice was cut off by the sound of a bullet piercing through his skull, and the foreign gangster hit the ground, dead.

"M" dropped his pistol to the floor before turning his back on the dead Russian and walking away. He got five feet before a blue metal container rolled towards his feet, emitting an invisible, odorless gas from a nozzle on top of the can.

"What is this?" said the puzzled drug-dealer.

The Scarecrow leaped from her hidden perch and landed in a crouch behind the blue canister.

"Welcome, Mr. 'M'," the dangerous female rasped as she slowly brought her lithe form to a standing position. "Welcome… to your nightmare…!"

The man known as "M' stared at the frightening-looking figure addressing him, seeming very unimpressed by the whole display.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" he asked plainly.

Helga was taken aback for a moment, a confused expression pasted on her face beneath the burlap mask she wore as she realized that her fear toxin wasn't having any effect on the man. 'What happened?' Helga wondered. 'Did I not make a strong enough batch? No, it couldn't have been that. The stuff I cooked up last night was powerful enough to drive fifty grown men completely out of their friggin' minds!'

"Excuse me."

Helga was interrupted from her thoughts by the man standing in front of her. She looked up to see that he was now holding her fear canister in the palm of his hand.

And it _still_ wasn't having any effect!

"Does this belong to you?" the masked man questioned before hurling the canister towards the costumed teenager.

Helga ducked and the can whizzed over her head and crashed into a nearby shipping container.

'Maybe the mask he's wearing prevents him from inhaling deadly toxins,' Helga thought to herself. 'After all, he _is_ on a moving landfill. Guess I'll just have to get up-close and personal.' The Scarecrow bared her syringed fingers menacingly and sprinted towards her opponent with lightning-fast speed, her body enhanced by the performance enhancer administered to her by Poison Ivy during her time in San Lorenzo. She thrust her toxin-filled claws towards her enemy and scored a direct hit right to his heart.

And was quite startled when her syringes snapped like dry twigs against her adversary's body.

"Was that supposed to hurt or something?" "M" asked dryly before bringing the back of his hand across his attacker's face, sending the young woman hurtling through the air and crashing into a large shipping container several feet away. The blonde teenager groaned in pain and confusion as she turned back to face her attacker.

And was utterly shocked to see him lifting a massive steel girder over his head with only one hand.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to look before you leap?" the masked superhuman shouted as he aimed his enormous projectile.

"M" paused to look down at the two black pieces of metal that were embedded into his left thigh.

"What the-?" his voice was drowned out as the metal pieces – having plastic explosives attached to their centers – exploded in an ear-shattering "BANG!"

The explosion engulfed two barrels of fuel, causing a fiery inferno to spread throughout the ship.

Helga looked up to see a black-haired young man – possibly in his early or mid twenties – standing over her. He wore a tight-fitting black costume with a stylized domino mask and blue hawk emblem that stretched out over his chest and onto his shoulders.

"Name's Nightwing," the costumed man introduced, extending a helping hand towards the young woman. "Are you all right?"

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch."

Helga and Nightwing turned back towards the source of the explosion (and the very pissed-off voice coming from it) to view the image of a battered and furious android heading towards them. The half of his face that wasn't a machine with a glowing green eye bore the likeness of a tanned, blonde man. The artificial skin on his torso had been burned away by the explosion, revealing the metallic gleam of the android's chassis underneath.

"What the hell _is_ he?" Helga gasped.

"His name is Metallo," Nightwing answered grimly. "And he doesn't look too happy at the moment."

Metallo hefted a large chunk of flaming debris and hurled it towards the two costumed individuals. The Scarecrow narrowly leaped out of the way of the projectile and, by the time she looked up, her black-garbed companion was already engaged in combat with the dangerous machine.

Nightwing leaped into the air, hurtling several more explosive batarangs (though none as powerful as the ones he previously used) at his opponent, then spun in mid-air, delivering a kick to the side of Metallo's face, sending the villain staggering backwards.

Nightwing hit the landing on his right hand. He kicked out with both feet at the dazed android, sending the villain flying backwards and into one of the shipping containers. The hero then whipped out a few more stylized batarangs (or "wing-dings" as he liked to call them) and hurled them into Metallo. The projectiles exploded upon impact, igniting the flammable venom within the container.

Nightwing then tossed another wing-ding at a lever by the container, shutting the door and trapping Metallo within the raging inferno within.

"Not bad," the Scarecrow congratulated as she approached the older (though not by much) vigilante.

"He'll regenerate soon enough," Nightwing assured, and, as if on cue, the door to the container flew open revealing the burning android.

"Get down!" Nightwing shouted as Metallo hurled the door at the two costumed individuals. They ducked just in time for the projectile to hurtle over their heads and go spinning off into the distance.

Nightwing looked back towards his opponent just in time to feel the mighty grasp of Metallo's right hand close around his throat.

"You're pretty good, kid," Metallo spoke as he lifted the hero into the air by his throat. "But you're no Superman."

Nightwing desperately struggled to free himself as his vision slowly blurred from the lack of oxygen.

Suddenly, Helga sprang into the air and launched herself at the mechanical man, bringing both legs into a kick that had the villain releasing his grip on the older hero and stumbling backwards from the blow. The female Scarecrow ricocheted off of the metal criminal and she landed in a crouch, skidding backwards along the deck of the barge.

"Thanks," Nightwing coughed and shook away the dizziness that had threatened to overwhelm him.

Before Helga could say "you're welcome," Metallo shot out his hand towards the costumed female, which extended and slammed her in the center of her chest, sending the teenager flying backwards and tumbling across the deck. Nightwing reached behind him and pulled out his twin truncheons and spun the metallic sticks around in each hand as he sprinted towards the awaiting villain. Metallo fired a powerful laser from his green-glowing eyes and Nightwing dropped down to a skid in order to avoid the beams. He righted himself and continued his advance on the android, dodging and ducking searing beams of energy sent his way.

Nightwing somersaulted over the villain, bringing his truncheons down hard on Metallo's shoulders in the process as he landed behind him. Nightwing spun on his left foot, bringing his right one upward and side-kicking Metallo in the head.

But the mechanical criminal was too quick for him, grabbing the vigilante by the ankle.

Nightwing immediately leaped up, using the villain's grasp as a makeshift step, to bring his other foot down on the android's face.

Metallo released his hold on the hero and staggered backwards as Nightwing quickly removed a pair of solid steel knuckles from his blue utility gauntlets and slid them over his fingers in the blink of an eye. He then launched into a series of furious blows, hitting the villain from nearly every conceivable angle as Nightwing rolled, leaped, and tumbled around the android to stay in constant motion and prevent any counter-attacks.

Helga slowly got back to her feet, her face and chest aching painfully from the hits she had taken from the powerful super-villain, and stared in awe as the acrobatic crime-fighter unleashed a barrage of vicious attacks on Metallo, utilizing fists, kicks, and his durable truncheons in a successful attempt to keep the villain subdued and off-balance.

But Nightwing was only flesh and blood, and would soon tire, while the dangerous android would stay as strong and as powerful as ever. It was only a matter of time before the hero would slip up and wind up at the mercy of his deadly foe, so Helga decided she needed to act fast.

She looked around for something that could be useful against the mechanical monster and her eyes fell upon the pistol still wrapped in the fingers of the now deceased Motlatov. Helga darted for the weapon and tore it from the corpse's grasp, then reached into her satchel and produced a can of highly flammable fear toxin.

"Duck!" she cried before hurling the canister at the mechanical villain.

Nightwing, heeding the young heroine's warning, backflipped away from Metallo just in time for the canister to hit the android in the chest and explode upon impact with the bullet Helga had fired after tossing the canister. The explosion tossed the older hero several feet and had him skidding to a halt in a crouching position.

"When are you fools going to learn that I am invincible?" the villain gloated as he slowly began to regenerate from the damage the explosion inflicted upon him.

"So, what now?" The Scarecrow asked grimly.

"Metallo's greatest strength is also his weakness: he's made of metal. Well, we're right on the water, so all we have to do is try to get him off the ship."

The two then leaped out of the way as several beams of concentrated energy were fired at them.

"Easier said then done," the Scarecrow noted.

Nightwing sprinted towards Metallo, then feinted to the left and ducked right in an attempt to confuse the villain.

"Hold still, damn you!" Metallo shouted as another beam of energy emerged from his glowing eyes.

Nightwing sprinted for the nearest wall and practically ran up the seemingly sheer surface, finding various small footholds to help in his ascent. He backflipped off of the wall, firing a grapnel line at the villain and landing atop a suspended shipping container held up by a nearby crane. Nightwing wrapped the nylon chord of the grapnel line around a hook used to suspend the crate and began tying it off.

The container suddenly jerked violently, almost sending Nightwing toppling over the edge, as Metallo, grapnel line in hand, gave the chord a mighty tug.

The Scarecrow was on him in an instant, though, and sprang into a series of punches and kicks. She knew that none of her attacks would do any significant damage to the machine, however, but it would definitely create just the diversion needed for Nightwing to enact his plan.

While the two were fighting, Nightwing pulled himself up over the edge and continued tying the grapnel line to the container. When he was done, he back-flipped off of the crate and headed towards the crane's controls.

Realizing what was going on, Metallo shape-shifted his right hand into a powerful buzz-saw and brought it up towards the grapnel line that had wrapped around his neck, while fending off the feisty heroine with the other. Helga, realizing the danger at hand, brought out Motlatov's pistol from her satchel and fired into one of Metallo's green-glowing eyes at point-blank range. The villain cried out in frustration and stumbled backwards, bringing his left hand to his face. Helga used the distraction as an opportunity to keep the villain off-balance. She leaped towards the android, crashing into him and sending the two tumbling to the ground.

Meanwhile, Nightwing hopped into the controls of the crane and steered the container out towards the harbor. He then quickly flicked the release button and watched as the crate hurtled down into the water, taking the grapnel line along with it.

As the crate was dropped, Metallo was lifted from the barge, along with Helga, who released her grip on the android as the mechanical criminal plunged into the murky waters of the harbor.

Nightwing hopped out of the crane and made his way towards the Scarecrow, who was grinning beneath her burlap mask.

Before the two could celebrate, however, the sound of rushing water was heard as Metallo leaped off of the shipping crate, out of the water, and back onto the barge.

"Very, clever," he congratulated. "But the water down here is not so deep. Even without the container, it would be easy for one with my strength to leap right out of the harbor."

Metallo's eyes glowed menacingly as he eagerly approached the two costumed companions.

"Your efforts are admirable, but utterly fruitless," he replied simply, then shape-shifted his hand into a large laser cannon.

"Prepare to die."

* * *

Bruce stared at the image on the massive computer screen, pondering the meaning of the words "Make It Right" and trying to unravel the mystery brought before him.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the arrival of his faithful butler, Alfred Pennyworth.

"Any luck yet, sir?" the well-mannered butler asked, setting a tray of coffee and sandwiches on a table next to his employer.

"Not yet," Bruce answered as he absentmindedly reached for one of the small sandwiches and plucked the tasty treat into his mouth.

He clicked the mouse near the computer and the next photograph appeared on the screen.

"Hunter was right," Bruce stated after swallowing his morsel. "Other than the bodies and the blood, there doesn't appear to be any other evidence at any of the crime scenes. Still… I wish there was a way for me to investigate the scenes of the murders first-hand…"

Bruce navigated the computer away from the images and leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply.

"Any word from Mr. Hunter regarding an audience with this 'Gold Glory' person, Master Bruce?"

"Not yet," Bruce answered darkly.

"You believe that this person is involved in these murders in some way?" Alfred asked while pouring a hot cup of black coffee for his employer.

"Possibly. But I don't like going on hunches alone, Alfred."

"Perhaps today's paper might shed some light on the subject," the butler suggested as he handed Bruce the morning paper.

The weary, yet now intrigued, detective opened it and narrowed his eyes as he read the headline:

FAMOUS EXPLORER FOUND DEAD IN MUSEUM

Bruce became even more intrigued as he continued reading the article and sipping his cup of coffee.

"According to this," Bruce explained, "Calvin Carson, a long-time friend of Rip Hunter's, was found dead in a museum here in Gotham. Police thoroughly examined the crime scene, suspecting a possible robbery may have also occurred, but found nothing of value missing. Apparently, a security guard, Warren Adams, found Carson's body as well as the murder suspect and opened fire, but the suspect quickly escaped. When questioned about the appearance of the suspect, Adams gave the description of a thin, clawed figure wearing what appeared to be a burlap mask."

"Am I correct to assume that you won't be visiting your bed this evening, sir?" Alfred asked dryly as Bruce threw on his cowl and headed for the Batmobile.

"Not tonight, Alfred," the Batman answered.

"Where to know, sir?" the butler asked curiously.

"To find some answers," the Dark Knight said as he entered the vehicle and sped off back to Arkham.

It was time to pay a little visit to Dr. Jonathan Crane.

* * *

Nightwing and the female Scarecrow leaped to the side in opposite directions as another blast from Metallo's deadly laser cannon soared past them, blasting a shipping container to pieces.

"We need to come up with a plan!" Helga shouted while taking cover behind another container.

"I'm open to any ideas," Nightwing shouted back while making his way to higher ground.

The agile hero dived, ducked, and somersaulted over the searing beams of energy while throwing wing-ding after wing-ding at his opponent.

Metallo had gotten smart by now, however, and used his free hand to create a large shield that regenerated after each explosion from the projectiles. He took aim for the container Nightwing was running on and opened fire, causing the large, metal crate to roll off of the barge and into the harbor.

Nightwing, as dexterous as they came, hopped upwards as the container turned, keeping him on level ground. Before the container hit the water, the crime-fighter leaped from the crate and hit the deck of the barge, going into a tumble and diving out of it into a sprint as yet another blast from the deadly cannon hurtled past him.

Helga, not possessing the unique gadgetry of her companion, picked up one of the dead mobster's AK-47s and fired it at the android in an attempt to create a diversion while her agile partner tried to get behind their enemy and find a way to take him down.

Nightwing reached into his gauntlet and pulled out his single-charge taser, hoping that the device might somehow overload the android and shut him down.

The key, however, was getting close enough to the villain to put the object to use.

Luckily, his female counterpart had the mechanical criminal distracted enough for Nightwing to sneak in.

He dashed towards Metallo as stealthily as possible and almost made it before the android spun his head around a complete one-hundred-eighty degrees and let loose a blast from his eye beams. The agile crime-fighter deftly leaned back as far as possible, feeling the intense heat as the twin beams soared just past his chest. He knew, however, that he would be ill-prepared in case Metallo decided to make another attack, so he came forward with his forearms crossed out in front of him, absorbing the impact as Metallo's vicious fist slammed into him.

Despite the durable, armored gauntlets Nightwing wore on his arms, the powerful blow fractured the bones in each forearm and sent him soaring into the air and clear over the harbor. Thinking quickly, the young vigilante threw out a grapnel that wrapped around the crane he had previously used and grimaced in pain as the sudden stop in momentum dislocated his right shoulder and sent searing waves of agony throughout Nightwing's already injured arm.

He sailed back towards the battle on his grapnel line, swinging over the crane several times before finally releasing his grip on the line and expertly sliding along the arm of the crane. Upon reaching the end, he front-flipped off of the arm, landed onto a busted shipping container, and leaped off the edge to land just beside his amazed companion.

"Well, at least if this whole super-hero thing goes sour, you can still get a job at the circus," Helga quipped.

Nightwing grinned and gave the young woman a sly wink.

"I've got an idea," he informed as Metallo prepared to fire another blast from his beam cannon.

"I'm all ears," Helga replied.

"Try to get behind him with this," he said as he tossed the taser to his female partner, "and just follow my lead."

Nightwing charged towards Metallo with the Scarecrow right on his heels. The android fired his beam at the two approaching vigilantes, but Nightwing stopped and went into a crouch, with Helga front-flipping over the beam. She came down in front of Nightwing and the older crime-fighter brought his hands out under the girl's feet, giving her a stepping stone as well as a little added boost to send her somersaulting over the android and landing behind him. She went in, taser in hand, but Metallo was ready for her, his green eyes charging up for a powerful blast.

Suddenly, Metallo's body jolted upright as ten thousand volts of electricity coursed through his metallic body. Nightwing had reached out and touched the villain with his gauntlet, utilizing the device's built in electrified security taser (used in case of any unwanted tampering with the gauntlets).

The taser, however, couldn't determine the difference between friend and foe, thus sending searing waves of agony coursing through Nightwing's body as well. Even with the added insulation of his suit, Dick Grayson felt the charge profoundly and, once the taser lost its charge, fell to the floor in a smoking, unconscious heap.

Helga immediately rushed to the aid of the fallen crime-fighter and checked for a pulse.

It was faint, but it was there.

She directed her attention back towards the now motionless android and cautiously approached. His formerly green eyes were now darkened with inactivity and the smoking android was as still as a statue.

Helga started to breathe a sigh of relief but it was cut off as Metallo's hand shot up and wrapped to grasp the young woman by the throat.

The android's eyes blinked on and he slowly lifted his head to look the costumed female in the eye.

"A bold move," Metallo commended. "But an ultimately futile one. Can you not see that I am invincible?"

He lifted the teenager off the ground and held her in the air as he gloated.

"Before I kill, I am curious as to why you are here in the first place. I originally assumed that you were just some punk vigilante trying to make a name for yourself, but now I sense there is something more…"

"I…" Helga gasped. "I wanted… to know… about Ebony…"

An intrigued look crossed the remaining human side of Metallo's face upon hearing the young woman's words.

"Ebony…" the android echoed. "What do you know of Ebony?"

"He…" Helga began to explain while gasping for air. "He came to me… told me he had plans… for me…"

"Ah…" Metallo said, finally putting the pieces together. "So _you're_ the Pataki girl I've heard so much about…"

"Yep," Helga croaked.

Metallo gave out a little chuckle and eased his grip on the masked teenager.

"Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck. Ebony is as much a mystery to me as he is to you. The only thing I know is that he and I were involved in a mercenary operation code-named 'Project Knightrise'. As for what the operation itself entailed, well… That's classified information that I have been paid a great deal to keep secret. My involvement with the Black Mask, however, is a mystery to me. Ebony gave me the venom and told me that the crime boss would pay a great deal for the serum. I didn't bother to ask questions. After all, it was easy money. What benefit my operation was to him was none of my concern, so long as I got paid."

Metallo tightened his grasp on his victim's throat and Helga could feel the icy grip of death closing in around her.

"But it would seem that you and your friend have crippled my operation here, so, of course, I've been left with no choice but to make an example of you."

Helga, her vision blurry, caught a glimpse of someone standing right behind the android.

"Huh?" Metallo muttered as he turned to regard the newest intruder, a man in gold futuristic armor and a visored helmet that concealed his entire face.

"Put her down," the armored figure warned. "I'll not warn you a second time."

Metallo growled and sent a powerful fist towards the armored man's face. The man easily caught the punch and held it there for a moment before pulling back with tremendous force, tearing the arm from its socket.

Metallo let out a roar of anger and blasted his newest opponent with his fully charged eye-beams. The lasers hit an invisible force field surrounding the armored individual and quickly dissipated, the field rippling around the man and flashing in shades of green similar in color to Metallo's energy blasts, as if absorbing the attack completely.

"You were warned," the armored man said as he lifted his right arm and sent a beam of white energy into the chest of his android opponent, seeming to vaporize the criminal instantly.

Helga fell to her knees, coughing and gasping for air, then looked up to see her rescuer extending an armored hand to assist her.

"Are you all right, Helga?"

"Criminey," the young woman complained as she accepted the offered hand, "why does everyone in this city know my name?"

The armored man chuckled as he helped the grumpy teenager to her feet.

"Who _are_ you?" the female Scarecrow asked.

"My name is Gold Glory," the man introduced.

"How do you know my name?" Helga asked, pulling off her Scarecrow mask.

"I know much about you, Helga Pataki. Let's just say, you inspired me to become what I am today."

The intrigued teenager raised an eyebrow at Gold Glory's enigmatic words and crossed her arms over her chest.

"And just what exactly did I 'inspire' you to be?"

"A super-hero, of course," Glory answered simply, as if it should have been obvious.

"Are you from around here?" Helga asked.

"No, I am actually from an Earth very different from this one, but with certain similarities."

"Uh-huh," Helga muttered, not quite believing the story. "So what brings you _here_?"

"I'm trying to solve a murder mystery."

"A murder mystery?" Helga echoed skeptically. "In an alternate reality? You must be pretty committed to your job."

Gold Glory chuckled beneath his all-concealing helmet.

"Well, it has affected other Earths as well. Plus, I have already eliminated crime in my world; therefore, I often take it upon myself to investigate any threats to the net that holds each universe together."

"Net?"

"Yes," Glory explained. "You see, along with this Earth, there exists an infinite number of alternate Earths – each one reflecting the opposite outcome of a decision or event occurring on another Earth."

"What?" the young woman gawked with a tilt of her head.

"To put it simply: for every choice we make on Earth, there exists a different Earth where an alternate choice was made. For example: Let's say you're walking along a road and you come across a branching path, one going left, the other going right. You think about which one to take and decide to go with left path. Well, somewhere in the multiverse, there exists an Earth where you decided to take the _right_ path. This effect is known as the Theory of Infinite Earths."

"I've heard about that!" Helga cried out. "That's Rip Hunter's theory."

"Precisely. Now, regardless of the differences in each Earth, there exists certain similarities."

"Such as…?"

"Well," Gold Glory thought for a moment. "Take Superman, for example. In each Earth there always exists a Superman in some way, shape, or form. He may be of different ethnicity, alignment, or even gender, but there is a Superman for each Earth."

"I think I get the picture," Helga replied.

"But despite the differences or similarities, each Earth is connected by the Multiversal Net."

"And what's that?"

"The Multiversal Net is what allows the Infinite Earths to exist. Without it, we lose the connection we have to the other Earths, thereby rendering the decisions we make to create them meaningless. No matter what decisions you make, _your _outcome will be the _only_ outcome."

Helga nodded slowly, starting to put the pieces together.

"But how could that happen?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion. "I mean, it's not like the net actually _physically_ exists… right…?"

"Right," Gold Glory confirmed. "The net isn't an actual net, it's just what we call it."

"Then how would it be possible to destroy it?"

"It would be a difficult process indeed, but there _is _a way. See, for every decision, there exists an Earth where that decision has yet to be made. We call these Earths 'Alpha Points'. For example, let's go back to the branching path: One version of you chose left, while another chose right. But somewhere in the multiverse there exists an Earth in which you have yet to even walk that road and chosen a path. If someone were to somehow travel to that Earth and prevent you from going down that road, it would cause a chain reaction that would eliminate those decisions from the previously mentioned Earths."

"Sort of like going back in time," Helga simplified.

"Exactly."

"So, if somebody traveled to an Earth where mankind hasn't been made yet and somehow prevented that from happening…"

"Then humanity would cease to exist in every other Earth in the multiverse," Gold Glory finished.

"Whoa…" Helga muttered, finally coming to an understanding. "So you've made it _your_ job to prevent stuff like that from happening?"

Gold Glory nodded.

"Well… I guess I should thank you, then."

"You don't have to thank me, Helga. I'm just doing my job."

"So… What's_ your _Earth like?" Helga asked curiously.

Gold Glory flipped open a panel on his wrist and pressed a sequence of buttons. A bright light emerged from projector in the armored adventurer's belt and a holographic utopia appeared all around them.

"Wow…" Helga gasped in amazement as she took on the sights.

It was a large futuristic city complete with flying cars, floating billboards, and majestic skyscrapers that seemed to disappear into the deep, blue sky above.

"It's beautiful," Helga said as she spun around to better take in the sites and sounds of the futuristic city.

"It is," Glory agreed. "It is a world free of pain and suffering. Free of crime and hate. A world where people no longer live in fear of terrorism, prejudice, or religious persecution. A perfect world."

Helga paused and looked back at the armored hero.

"You _did_ all of this?"

"I had help, and it didn't happen overnight, but yes. I spent so many years trying to fix the world's problems. So many years trying to right the injustices in the world."

He was quiet for a moment as he stared off distantly into space.

"So many years…" he whispered.

He shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts and turned to regard the marveling young woman.

"But, finally, it happened," he concluded.

Helga turned around and stared at the golden-armored hero.

"How did you know I was going to be here?" she asked curiously.

Gold Glory merely shrugged his armored shoulders.

"I was sort of in the neighborhood, actually," he casually explained. "My partner was meeting up with someone down by the docks and I stuck around for a little while after they left."

"What made you stay?"

"I just… I had a feeling, I guess. A feeling that I should be here…"

The perceptive blonde wasn't buying any of it, though.

"You've been watching me…" she accused with a sly grin.

Gold Glory went back on his heels, waving his hands defensively in front of him. "It's not like that…" he tried to explain, drawing a laugh from the amused teenager.

"Calm down, Captain Jitters, I'm sure you had your reasons."

Glory eased back and composed himself.

"So, what now?" Helga asked.

"I could give you a ride home, if you'd like," Glory offered, and Helga could detect a hint of nervousness in his voice that made her grin.

She started to accept the offer, but paused. This wasn't how things were supposed to be anymore. This miraculous man in front of her was kind, brave, and noble.

In short, he reminded her too much of Arnold.

"No," she refused, shaking her head. "Thanks, but I can take it from here."

"Are you sure?" Glory asked gently.

Helga nodded her head. "I'm sure."

"Well… okay, then."

The armored hero slowly lifted off of the ground and into the air.

"Good-bye, Helga," he replied as he floated away. "Hopefully, we'll meet again someday."

Helga smiled and waved after him as Gold Glory ascended into the sky like a brilliant, shining angel, and soared out over the harbor and out of sight, leaving Helga Pataki all alone.

She grimly decided that she preferred it that way.


End file.
